


All The Wrong Reasons

by panda_shi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anbu Yamato | Tenzou, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Break Up, Commitment, Committed Relationship, Conditioning, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Heartache, Killing, M/M, Manipulation, Multiple Partners, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Relationship(s), Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, References to Depression, Rokudaime Hatake Kakashi, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 85,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: CommitmentnounThe state or quality of being dedicated to a cause, activity, etc; a pledge or undertaking; an engagement, promise or obligation that restricts freedom of action.You don’t need love to commit. You just need loyalty, respect and trust – three things Tenzou always had for Kakashi. Three things that apparently, at the end of the day, weren’t enough.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Maito Gai | Might Guy, Hatake Kakashi/Yamato | Tenzou, Umino Iruka/Yamato | Tenzou
Comments: 93
Kudos: 116





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Please mind the tags. All tags pertaining to this story has been slapped on. It may not all unfold/be obvious at the beginning but it will. So if any of the tags make you uncomfortable, don't read. You've been warned.
> 
> Also, this fic will contain a lot of KKYM/YMIR sexual content. Don't like it? Then this fic isn't for you.

Tenzou never meant to fall in love.

Not in the way it’s described in books, television, how day dreamers would describe finding that special person one day, the kind of person that seems to brighten your room, make the air you breathe just a touch sweeter, where winter doesn’t exist when you stand in their orbit, where everyday is a day filled with sunshine warmth and beautiful smiles, the kind that makes dimples peek out from both cheeks, the kind that makes your stomach swoop inwards, like you’re dropping from a sudden elevation. That drop that then makes your heart skip a few beats, your frozen lips that’s almost always in a neutral line twitch up to something of a smile, perhaps not as wide, maybe not as bright, but a smile nonetheless. It makes you want to try harder, to be better, it makes you fight stronger in ways you didn’t think was possible, not because the mission demands for you to succeed, not because you are dedicated to nothing more than a nation, where your mission should be your only priority (no past, no present, no future), but because you want to come home to the circle of warm arms around your neck, to feel soft, pliant lips on yours, softer fingers carding through your hair and to hear the words that never fails to make you feel alive:

“Welcome back.”

You want him.

You love him.

You didn’t mean to.

But then you did.

*

They meet by chance at a gathering in a bar-restaurant, an engagement party of one of Tenzou’s ANBU teammates, to a fellow former-ANBU now-jounin who has retired from being field active and has chosen to be a teacher in the Academy to the older children. Tenzou knows both parties getting engaged. He continues to work with Mantis and years ago, just a little after Kakashi was honorably discharged, he had gone on a few missions with Cobra. It is Cobra who invites Umino Iruka, Cobra who speaks highly of Umino Iruka, her mentor at the Academy, the person responsible for orienting her, making sure her foundation in the Academy is solid. Cobra who drags Iruka around the room, one arm looped around Iruka’s, oblivious to the flushed and embarrassed expression on Iruka’s face, who is being paraded around and being told how fantastic, awesome, accommodating and a great guy he is.

Tenzou has only ever heard of Umino Iruka through a briefing packet, when he had returned from some long mission months ago, only to discover that a chuunin had decided to use the Jinchuriki to obtain a forbidden scroll. That it was another chuunin teacher of said Jinchuriki, who had put a stop to it going any further, or worse, doing more damage. The very same chuunin that Sandaime had placed his trust on and spends time playing Go with once a week.

Tenzou only knows Iruka by the standard 70mm x 50mm photograph that is attached to every shinobi file. Iruka’s photo had been on the report on the briefing packet.

A photo that does Iruka no justice at all.

Iruka had been out of uniform the day Tenzou gets introduced to him. He had already been around the room, still remaining a prisoner in Cobra’s strong and excited grip, the flush that had been on his cheeks now painting past his throat, disappearing into the v-cut of his dark green cotton t-shirt. Outside of the vest and chuunin uniform, Iruka looks narrower, leaner, and a whole lot younger. He had not been able to form words much, merely nodding and managing a polite it’s-good-to-meet-you, all while an apologetic if not sheepish expression remains tugging at his face – a beautiful face, Tenzou remembers thinking, expressive, warm, skin the color of warm milk tea, long lashes framing bright, intelligent, if not outright cheeky brown eyes, further framed by expressive and defined eyebrows. The level of embarrassment humbles Iruka, softens the sharp definition of his jaw, makes his straight shoulders curve inwards, as if he’s bracing himself to duck out of Cobra’s grip the first opportunity he gets, as if shrinking inwards would make the situation less embarrassing.

Tenzou remembers being amused meeting this Umino Iruka, the first and only man to protect and willingly want to give his life for the Jinchuriki. He remembers smirking just a little bit when Cobra goes on and on with her tirade, at how nice and sweet and ugh, I love his shampoo, look at how amazing this guy is, he’s a complete life saver, I wouldn’t be half the teacher I am without him and he’s got a wonderful ass too!

Cobra then slaps Iruka on a butt cheek, making Iruka flush an impressive crimson, jumping a little bit at the contact and finally, after being dragged around like a puppet, puts his foot down and tugs his arm free.

“Fumiko-san! Where is your shame! You’re engaged!” Iruka had protested, all proper decorum, looking around for Mantis in mild alarm, completely abashed, before he bows in Tenzou’s direction, apologizing about Fumiko’s behaviour, who then proceeds to laugh with her head thrown back like what just happened is the funniest thing she’s ever seen. She then loops an arm around Iruka’s shoulders and proceeded drag him away to the bar.

Tenzou remembers watching Iruka go, tilting his head a little bit to look at his ass.

Cobra wasn’t wrong. It’s a great ass.

*

Things would have been easier if Tenzou never conversed with Iruka that night.

It would have spared them both the heart ache if he hadn’t approached him a little after the dinner buffet was served and everyone was already well on their way to getting tipsy. Iruka had disappeared somewhere during the middle of the night, managing to free himself from Cobra’s constant fawning and awe, seating himself on a corner in the bar and nursing a drink as he watched Cobra and Mantis sing a duet on the karaoke machine, out of tune, lyrics amok much to everyone’s amusement and tipsy cheery-egging-on.

Things wouldn’t have been easier if Tenzou didn’t take the seat beside him, nursing a beer bottle and said, “Finally free?”

“Fumiko-san means well,” Iruka says, a little defensive. “She is a very enthusiastic, energetic and kind person. Please do not judge her based on tonight’s behavior.”

It would have been easier, if Tenzou hadn’t been just a little bit impressed with how Iruka seems to leap and defend his colleagues, much like how he had taken a giant shuriken to the back that almost left him crippled. An injury like that would have destroyed a lesser man.

“I know,” Tenzou says, amused as he tips his chin at Cobra, who has her hand in the air, striking a pose with the karaoke mic, as someone snaps a photograph. “I’ve worked with her. I’d apologize on her behalf if you didn’t look like you were enjoying it.”

“Enjoying – would _you_ enjoy it if I paraded you around and told everyone you had a nice ass?” Iruka challenges, flushing and wrinkling his nose in absolute distaste.

“She’s not wrong.” Tenzou shrugs a shoulder, dropping his gaze to the stool Iruka’s ass is seated on before flitting his gaze back up. It makes him smirk behind his beer bottle when Iruka turns his gaze away, a bit of amusement tugging around the corner of his lips, hollowing a dimple on his cheek.

“Yours isn’t so bad either, jounin-san,” Iruka mutters, rolling his eyes. “Now if you’re quite done fishing for compliments—“

Tenzou’s mild smirk morphs to something wider, a bit lopsided as he sets the beer bottle on the bar top and turns to face Iruka, interest piqued, beer warming his lower abdomen, spreading fire in his blood stream. It had been a good evening, filled with pleasant food, drinks, and company. Tenzou didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t end it with a bit more. He had a mission the next morning and Kakashi had been out of town. If Iruka would agree to his proposition, it’d spare him the trouble of looking for someone else for the evening.

“Want to go somewhere quieter?” Tenzou offers.

“What makes you think I want to?” Iruka asks, tartly, a little hotly.

“You’re by yourself at the bar, too polite to leave Fumiko’s engagement gathering, but you don’t want to outright hide, either,” Tenzou points out, tipping his chin at the newly engaged couple by the karaoke, who are now beckoning Iruka to join them. “Your choice.”

Iruka looks a little green around the gills at the prospect of singing, at being the center of attention, so he hops off the bar stool and grabs Tenzou by the wrist, tugging him off the chair too. “Let’s go.”

It would have been easier, if Tenzou didn’t loop an arm around Iruka’s shoulders that night, if he didn’t wave at the couple, who cat calls, and makes hooting cheers that leaves Iruka as red as summer cherries, Iruka who remains ducked under the firm, staking claim and protective cover of Tenzou’s arm --- gods it would have been just so much easier if Tenzou never took him home that night.

*

Home is a one-bedroom apartment, with white baseboards and white paint, LED ceiling panels for lights and basic furniture in hues of browns and beige. Home is a barren kitchen, because Tenzou is almost never home anyway, of disciplined order and cleanliness, of books lining the single shelf next to the television, and plants by the only window that overlooks the main street, with no hanging drapes but warded for privacy.

Home is plain, cold gray sheets and a blue duvet that gets rumpled and kicked off the side of the bed when Tenzou falls into it with Iruka pinned underneath him. Home is Iruka kissing the lines of Tenzou’s body, dragging his tongue over old scars, raking fingers over red, raised keloid lines on Tenzou’s side, chest and back, as their tongues brush against each other, deep, passionate, Tenzou’s fist in that length of long, lustrous brown hair that leaves his pillow smelling like cinnamon and oranges.

Home becomes something else when Iruka steps into it.

Home becomes warm, welcoming, almost peaceful as opposed to the quiet silence where one rests. Peaceful because when Tenzou comes and Iruka comes and they collapse and tangle under the covers, home starts to look a little like a dreamscape, where someone beautiful and warm lies blissfully asleep on the bed, tanned skin brushing with dawn’s golden streaks as Tenzou tugs his gloves on.

Tenzou had no idea that the image of home would become that of Iruka lying asleep on his bed, lips parted and body decorated with the shadows of Tenzou’s fingers. That home would mean coming back long after Iruka had gone, falling face first after a shower into his pillows and smelling that heady scent of Iruka’s shampoo and wanting him. Wanting, wanting, just wanting.

That home would turn to a place of yearning, to want to taste sweetened, soft lips and hear Iruka breathlessly say, _don’t stop, Jounin-san_.

*

Tenzou tells himself to let it go.

To not pursue the teacher, give in to the cravings, the yearnings, to feel Iruka’s mouth on his cock and watch him smirk up vain gloriously, beautifully, with his mouth full of Tenzou’s flesh.

He tells himself that one and done, just like all his other partners in the past.

Except he sees Iruka again one day, seated by himself, late into the evening, sipping tea by a tea house next to the administration building, looking up at the Hokage monuments, a satchel by his feet while he warms his fingers with the porcelain cup. Iruka who smiles at the waiter, nodding when he’s told that it’s time for the tea house to close, draining the last of his cup and surrendering it to the waiter. Tenzou watches as Iruka stands then, looking tired, unguarded, no expression of pretense tugging at his lips, when he picks up the strap of his satchel and slings it over a shoulder, his feet heavy against the road even though he walks with his back straight.

Tenzou has seen Iruka around, usually when he’s picking up his briefing packet from the headquarters or on his way in or out of the Hokage’s office. He’s seen him grin at the children as he leaps over the barbed fence of the academy, over it’s rooftops and towards Konoha’s gates. He’s seen Iruka smile, seen him yell and dress down his students for bunking class and sometimes even drag them back by the ears. Iruka has a personality, loud, open, like summer skies overlooking an endless spread of green meadows, there for anyone to embrace and fall into, if they choose to.

But tonight, months after they had fallen into bed with each other, Iruka is dulled, muted, shadowed.

He is the opposite of what Tenzou has come to associate him with.

He falls into Iruka’s step, following him from a distance of three meters until Iruka rounds a corner.

When Tenzou turns, he finds Iruka standing there, his arms crossed, unimpressed and looking like he’s ready to punch someone in the face.

“Can I help you?” Iruka asks, not in the mood, clearly.

Tenzou simply lifts a hand up to placate. “Iruka-sensei, it’s been a while.”

“Normal people would say, hello, good evening, how are you, not follow people around. I know it’s a cliché civilians associate us shinobi with, but we don’t actually have to live up to their image of us, you know?” Iruka sighs, rolling his eyes. “How have you been, jounin-san?”

“Well,” Tenzou answers, sliding his hands into his pockets. “What about you, Iruka-sensei?”

“Well.” Iruka nods.

“I don’t believe you,” Tenzou says, the words whisper-soft.

They stand there, under the circular glow of the overhead streetlight, looking at each other before Iruka licks his lips and sighs, dipping his head forward, his shoulder slumping in what looks like surrender. Surrender to what, Tenzou hadn’t known at the time.

But then Iruka looks up and asks, “Would you like to join me for tea?”

Tenzou says yes.

*

Tea is Tenzou pinning Iruka against the door by the genkan, boxing him in, slanting their mouths together and reaching up to push the forehead protector off Iruka’s face. Tea is Iruka moaning against his mouth when Tenzou’s fingers balls in to fists to push Iruka’s vest off his shoulders after unzipping it, white knuckled and heated, leaving it a mess on the floor. Tea is Iruka reaching forward and pushing the shirt off Tenzou’s body, tossing it aside and rotating their position so that Tenzou is the one leaning against the grain of the wood, and Iruka is the one pinning his hips in place, while he gets on his knees and yanks Tenzou’s pants down, freeing his cock into the cool, night air, that he then wraps the furnace of his mouth around, suckling precum and the swollen head and leaving Tenzou staring up at the minor cracks lining the paintjob of Iruka’s apartment ceiling.

Tea is Tenzou coming into Iruka’s mouth, hot and hard, his fists in Iruka’s hair, the snap of his hips stilling when Iruka _whimpers_ around the white hot heat sliding down his throat, one eye scrunched shut as he looks up at Tenzou, a flush high on his cheeks, saliva, precum and semen dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt.

Tea is Tenzou pulling his softening cock out of that mouth, listening to Iruka _gasp_ rather loudly, the salacious squelch of his cock sliding past those ruddy lips filling the space of his quiet studio, as Tenzou pulls him up into his arms and kisses him again, tasting himself upon the soft, sweet tiers of Iruka’s lips – sweet, like spiced honey tea, probably what he had been drinking earlier at the tea house.

Tea is Iruka taking Tenzou by the hand, walking backwards into the small space of his apartment, past the small wooden table and couch, past the shelves that divide the space of the bed from the living room, where Iruka pushes Tenzou down the bed, and proceeds to strip himself of his clothing. Tea is Iruka straddling Tenzou, with Tenzou’s hands holding him by the hips, his legs spread and elevating him as he reaches down with a tube of lube and fingers himself, stretches himself, neck arched to the ceiling and hair down, looking gods, so damn beautiful – chewing his lower lip, rolling Tenzou’s unknown name and known title past parted lips in a breath so soft, as one, two, then three fingers and then Tenzou’s fingers join in, slicking his ass, preparing him for Tenzou’s once again hardened cock.

Tea is Iruka sheathing Tenzou’s rock hard cock with his body, rolling his hips and grasping the headboard as Tenzou begins to fuck him with abandon, each thrust pushing a soft noise past his throat, as Iruka grits his teeth and scrunches his eyes shut, when Tenzou spins them around and pins Iruka on the mattress, legs spread obscenely wide as he pistons his cock into that warm, pliant body, his mouth swallowing all the noise that Iruka can’t seem to ever keep to himself, muting it all with mouth.

Tea is Iruka coming with his fingers in Tenzou’s hair, gripping, gripping, gripping, almost painful that Tenzou has to grind his teeth, as he comes and comes, and comes, filling Iruka with heat, until it leaves Iruka staring up at the ceiling unseeingly, the breath frozen in his lungs as time seem to stop for the both of them for just a moment.

Tea is Tenzou lying on his back, with the lines of Iruka’s body finally relaxed, no longer pulled taut like it had been earlier that evening in the tea house. Iruka who lies with his chin tucked on his shoulder, fast asleep with cum drying on his chest, uncaring about the mess, the air that reeks of sex, the heat that slowly begins to press down as the room cools. Iruka who just sleeps like he doesn’t give a damn if the man beside him is loyal or a traitor, caution thrown to the wind because later, much later, Tenzou learns Iruka had given up on trust.

He didn’t care for such a thing anymore.

Except tea starts to become the building blocks for new trust.

*

“Join me for tea?” Tenzou one day asks, after being away for a week.

Iruka is on lunch break when Tenzou presents the offer to him. He had exactly thirty minutes to spare.

“Okay,” Iruka says, leaping over the Academy barbwire and landing quietly beside Tenzou.

Tenzou takes him by the forearm and shunshins them both to his apartment, where tea, turns to a mouthful of cum and Iruka’s ass burning for the rest of the day.

*

Tea starts to come with dinners, sometimes lunches, sometimes actual tea shared between them as they watch television either beside each other in the middle of Tenzou’s not-quite-used beige sofa or tucked comfortably against each other on Iruka’s slightly worn blue one. Sometimes it comes with Iruka offering to cook up dinner, simple things, modest things like donburi or chicken-egg katsudon, supermarket frozen mochis or cup puddings bought on sale.

One day, it becomes breakfast, because Tenzou wakes up and finds Iruka toasting bread on a pan in his kitchen, while the coffee brews and the smell of freshly fried eggs lies steaming on a single plate.

“I was about to leave and didn’t mean to wake you up,” Iruka says, as he plates the toast by the eggs and pours Tenzou a cup of coffee. Tenzou watches all this like he’s been displaced, the image completely foreign to him because he didn’t ever picture having someone cook him breakfast at his apartment. Not like this. Not with how Iruka stands there, dressed in chuunin uniform from the previous night, his hair up in a messy bun and looking earnest if not a little shy. “You need your strength back, jounin-san.”

Tenzou blinks at that, at how strange it sounds being addressed like that when they’ve been doing this for a while.

Only to realize he’s never really told Iruka his name.

And Iruka never asked.

“Tenzou,” Tenzou says. “You can call me Tenzou.”

“Tenzou…” Iruka murmurs, dropping his gaze to the floor, his cheeks warming with a soft red glow that makes Tenzou cross the distance between them and wrap his arms around Iruka’s slighter frame. How the syllables of his name sounds like on Iruka’s lips – Tenzou likes it.

It makes something small, a mere spec somewhere under his ribs flare like starlight.

“Come back tonight?” Tenzou suddenly asks, unthinkingly, unexpectedly, almost uncharacteristically. The question is out of his mouth before he can stop it, making him go incredibly still.

“Are you sure?” Iruka asks, also going still.

Tenzou spares the question a moment’s thought, looks at the plate of eggs and toast on the counter and decides, as he buries his nose into Iruka’s hair, and says, _yes. Yes, I am sure._

*

Tea becomes a we, an us.

It becomes an altering presence between two homes that starts to feel more like a real home, the same way Tenzou has seen in books and television dramas. When he comes home from a mission and washes up, there is a bottle of Iruka’s shampoo and conditioner next to his, along with his soap and toothbrush. There is a small corner in Tenzou’s cabinet that he clears so Iruka can keep a spare uniform ready, for the days that he ends up staying the night and wakes up late from oversleeping, far too comfortable and snug in Tenzou’s arms. It becomes laughter, and dates, and going to see movies at the theater or trying new restaurants.

It becomes something Kakashi respects when he stops knocking on Tenzou’s door for a fuck and instead, starts asking him if he wants to spar. Sometimes it’s just for a drink.

It becomes real, and whole and grounding and everything Tenzou didn’t think he needed, didn’t think possible because being with Iruka opens doors to things he didn’t know were there.

It makes the swing of blade that much stronger, the delivery of his punches that much more cruel. It makes his chakra reserves burn longer, makes mokuton a whole lot sturdier, deadlier, devastating in its power. It makes Tenzou fight like he’s never fought before, not just because he wants the mission to succeed but because he wants to go home.

He wants to go home to Umino Iruka.

Umino Iruka who looks up at him like he’s the only thing in the world that make sense, that has meaning. Who looks at him with love, devotion and everything Tenzou had been trained to cut out of himself by Danzou, who smiles at him so wonderfully, dimples dotting his cheeks, his eyes soft and gods, so beautiful. Always so beautiful.

It makes Tenzou start thinking of forever. However forever may last, however long his lungs can still draw breath.

It makes him _want_ a forever.

He finds himself thinking about it, as he watches Iruka grade an impossible amount of papers by the floor of his apartment, eyebrows knitted in concentration, watching him dedicate all his energy to Konoha’s future. Iruka doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s grading, something Tenzou learns when Iruka had _pinched_ his inner thigh once, when Tenzou had been trying to distract him with kisses. The pinch bruised for a solid week, a warm burn that never fails to make Tenzou impishly grin under the cover of his porcelain mask. Tenzou starts thinking of how much stronger he’s become now that he’s got this precious person tucked under the safety of his ribcage, something he wants to protect no matter what because a failed mission is always a possible threat to Konoha’s safety.

And Iruka, Tenzou has come to realize, is Konoha.

He is the will of fire that keeps Tenzou’s knees upright and his back strong when he fights.

So he thinks about it. Forever, that is.

And continues to think about it when he spots a silver ring on red velvet, one evening on his way to Iruka’s apartment after buying dinner. He makes a spontaneous purchase, tucking the small jewelry case into his utility pouch, still thinking about it.

(Tenzou has always been rather steadfast in his decision making. He’s never been the kind of man to go around in circles and beat around the bushes. And Iruka has been good for him. Iruka makes him strong, _focused_.)

Until…

*

Until Orochimaru happens.

And Sasuke happens.

And then Itachi happens.

And then it all goes to shit.

*

Kakashi doesn’t pass his psychiatric evaluation. Although he doesn’t pass it but they don’t take him off the field either. Not when Konoha is in absolute shambles.

What happens instead is this:

The Godaime summons Tenzou one day, and tells him to keep an eye on Kakashi. She tells him to do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn’t tip over the edge. She tells him that Tenzou will be accompanying Kakashi in his missions for the time being, because they can’t spare to keep people within the village proper to properly recuperate, not just yet. That the best solution at a crisis like this is slapping a band aid on something that is wounded, broken and already previously damaged.

Tenzou hears the order.

And his stomach plummets.

*

He comes home to find Iruka already making dinner in his apartment, right where he had left him earlier before he was summoned. Iruka who is humming something under his breath, lips moving to the sound of the small radio playing on top of the refrigerator, stirring something in the pot as he sips on a cup of tea with his other hand. Iruka who looks up from the pot, the smile freezing on his face when he meets Tenzou’s hooded gaze.

Iruka turns the flame off, setting his cooking chopsticks down along with his mug, as he approaches Tenzou and takes his hand, a warm palm cupping Tenzou’s face.

“Is everything okay?” Iruka asks, gentle, whisper soft.

And Tenzou can only swallow past the choking in his throat and tell Iruka the truth.

*

The truth is Tenzou knows Kakashi long enough to know his ways. He knows that under all the hard bladed weapon that Kakashi is, is a broken, scarred man and a child that had been forced to grow up too fast, too quick and for all the wrong reasons.

Kakashi is the man who had to bury his father at young age after he failed to push all his guts back into his body with shaking hands that keeps slipping over the slippery, bile covered instetines. Kakashi is a declared war hero but not before burying his best friend under rocks as big as mountains and putting a fist full of lighting into the only girl who ever loved him. Kakashi is the man who turned into a shadow, whatever light that he had carried in his chest obscured by blood, rot and genocide, not because he’s been groomed to have no past, no present nor a future, but because his environment forged him to be a weapon more than a man.

Because he had been too young to know any better.

Because at four, he realized that rules are the only things that matter alongside a chain of command, only to discover that obeying them would make him less than a human being. Absolute trash. All at the price of his team.

Because when he was Hound, he became the lowest scum of the earth when he decimated innocents, all because they were collateral damage. Because they got in his way. All in the name of honor, service, and the mission.

Kakashi wasn’t programmed like Tenzou. 

Kakashi always had things in him that could break.

He had a past, he had a present and with the way he lived his present, with how strong his lightning fists sliced through enemies and how quick his sharingan eye spun and copied technique after technique, Kakashi too, had a future.

A future as the Rokudaime, should something happen to the Godaime.

Those are the parameters of Tenzou’s mission.

To do whatever it takes because on record, the only time Kakashi had the minimal amount of red flags on his file had been the time when Tenzou had been by his side.

It made sense for the Godaime to take this shot in the dark.

Tenzou had been there, after all, to give Kakashi everything he needed.

When Kakashi would need to be reminded of the living as the dead spilled past his mouth in breaths that hitched and gasped, as he gripped Tenzou by the neck and shoulder far too tight, his hips snapping into Tenzou’s body, the Sharingan spinning wildly, living in this present, this moment, of the both of them tangled around each other in tongue, breath and heat – sometimes on grass and dirt, tucked under the shadows, away from the glow of the moon, sometimes on Kakashi’s bed, with Tenzou on all fours, fingers gripping his neck and a cock in his ass. Kakashi would let himself go, let the fear and guilt and trauma of the mission, the screams of the innocent get muted as release would wash over him, hot and unbidden, uncontrolled, when he didn’t have to be Sharigan Hatake Kakashi.

When he can just be Kakashi.

When sometimes, it is Kakashi scrunching his eyes to hold back tears as Tenzou brutalizes his mouth, make the burn go all the way down Kakashi’s throat as he fucks his mouth with hard flesh, gripping Kakashi by the hair as his hands lay limp on his knees that are on the floor, his breath only allowed to flow when Tenzou pulls his cock out of his mouth, just long enough for Kakashi to draw breath, to push the dark circles away from the corners of his eyes that blocks out the horror, the massacre, the bloodshed, only for that darkness to return and dim reality once more when Tenzou pushes his cock past the tight right of Kakashi’s throat once more.

Sometimes, it’s Kakashi falling asleep for a few hours, his forehead pressed against Tenzou’s shoulder blade, his breaths even, only to wake up with a sharp inhale that leaves him frozen and still, like he’s in enemy territory, that any noise within the confines of Kakashi’s own bed would render his throat split open. In those moments, Tenzou too would remains till, until Kakashi tightly drawn chakra gradually expands when he realizes he’s somewhere safe, that the body beside him is someone he trusts, someone he can be himself with.

And then Tenzou would turn to lie on his back, as Kakashi straddles his hips and strokes Tenzou’s cock until its ruddy tipped and filled with pumped, twitching in Kakashi’s calloused and scarred palms that he later guides into his ass, tight, unprepared, craving for that burn that will radiate up and out for _days_. Kakashi will ride Tenzou with a flinch on one side of his face, his jaw slacked with pleasure while his eyebrows knit with his own brutal pace, all while Tenzou keeps his hands _gripped_ on Kakashi’s hips, leaving shadows of himself that he knows will be tender until it gradually fades.

It’s that brutality, that harsh slap of flesh against flesh that Tenzou willingly gives Kakashi that keeps his head in the game. It’s that steady form of release, of being able to step out of uniform and armor and just be a man that had minimized the red flags on Kakashi’s record. Sometimes it’s the quiet company too, or the sparring, the training but almost always, easily ninety-percent of the time, it had simply been about Tenzou’s trust and lack of judgment upon Kakashi losing his mind and being at his lowest, that it had been the steady presence of Tenzou’s shoulder for Kakashi to lean on, or just his presence lingering a few, sometimes several steps behind but always ready to catch Kakashi, wordlessly saying, _I got your six._

Tenzou isn’t an idiot.

He isn’t delirious either.

He would never be that kind of man to put Kakashi forward while another suffers for it. He would never put a command before his respect, his _love_ (because this is love, it has to be love—unintentional as it may be) for Iruka.

So he tells Iruka the truth.

And watches as his reality seem to dim as Iruka dips his head to hide the shock, the pain, the betrayal when Tenzou tells him, _I have to be everything Kakashi-senpai needs me to be._

Tenzou’s world then goes pitch black, color washing off everything, when Iruka nods in understanding, takes Tenzou by the hand and whispers, ever so soft, ever so compassionate and kind and gods, fuck, Tenzou didn’t deserve any of this, Iruka certainly deserved none of this and says, _I understand_.

TBC


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Please mind the tags. All tags pertaining to this story has been slapped on. It may not all unfold/be obvious at the beginning but it will. So if any of the tags make you uncomfortable, don't read. You've been warned.
> 
> Sexual content ahead.

It takes less than an hour for Iruka to clear Tenzou’s apartment of anything that may belong to him. Iruka strips the bathroom of his toiletries, his toothbrush, his towel. He takes with him his extra uniform, and a small stack of house clothes and underwear that had ended up being wedged neatly in a clean pile in one corner of Tenzou’s orderly two-door closet. The extra cooking pot, pot holder and sofa throw goes too. It takes less than an hour to strip Tenzou of his heart, tucking it away into a 24 x 16 box, and a mere second to put a lid on it. Iruka pushes a window open before he leaves, allowing air to flow into the apartment, as if packing his belongings hadn’t been enough; attempting to air out the apartment, to erase any signs of him is the cherry on top of everything else.

“Will you please take care of yourself? Be strong?” Iruka says, standing there in the genkan; it is the only thing he says, or asks for, when Iruka never asks for anything. Not even Tenzou’s name while he gives every part of him, every inch of his body for little to nothing in return. Even now, when Iruka asks, he asks for Tenzou.

Tenzou can only nod, mutely, dumbly, numbly.

He can only hope that in this separation, that Iruka will never forget that Tenzou’s love for him, however silent and tucked away into the deepest crevice of his being it may be, remains, for Tenzou’s heart, the one that they had tried so hard to cut off from the rest of him has learned to love so infinitely. That though they may both move in separate spheres, following challenges that the distant future may bring, Tenzou hopes that Iruka knows that his love belongs to no one else but him. That Tenzou is grateful, humbled, blessed for the time that they had together, however too short, a mere two years which is nothing in shinobi life, almost non existent, that the best of Iruka will remain tucked under his ribcage. That even if Tenzou will end up standing next to another, walking away from Iruka, facing away from Iruka, perhaps never daring to look at Iruka again, I hope you know that I love you so very much. That not a day will go by from this moment forward where I won’t miss you.

Iruka smiles a watery smile, soft in its curve as he dips his head in a polite bow, turns around to slip into his shoes and walks away without another look back.

(Iruka can’t look back, because looking back would shatter what little strength and dignity he may have had left in him.)

Tenzou is left in a heartache that robs him of the sun, where birdsong would pass but not carry the melody through the air as it once did before. In this heartache, as Tenzou sits on the sofa, long after Iruka had gone, his elbows on his knees, his hands trembling as he presses them on the back of his skull, his eyes staring at a point in the distant horizon, Tenzou knows he is alone. That he has to be alone. That this love he had for Iruka is something Kakashi must never know about, nor should he ever comprehend the sheer scale of it, the magnitude of self sacrifice because if Kakashi knew, gods, if he knew…

Tenzou swallows, staring at the potted plants by the window. They used to be lined with cactuses, peace lilies, devil’s ivy and spider plants. But much like how Iruka had splashed color all over Tenzou’s mostly sepia gradient world, the little corner of green in Tenzou’s house had gained other companions; red daisies, calla lilies, gladiolus, borage and tulips.

(Beauty, strength, honor, trust, respect, hope, courage and undying love – everything Iruka is. Everything you didn’t know you wanted for yourself.)

The sight of them gently swaying the spring breeze from the open window suddenly seems mocking, cruel, unkind in their crimson, gold and purple blooming hues. They wave at Tenzou as they sway, in a way Iruka hadn’t dared when he turned around earlier, won’t even dare now, probably, even if they were to bump into each other in the middle of a public street. But these flowers wave at him now, slow, almost ghost like in their movement, that suddenly, Tenzou can’t stand to look at them, can’t bare the sight of them in his house that Iruka stripped bare of his presence.

Suddenly he’s burning hot and catapulting up from his seat on the sofa, grabbing the pots by the window sill, his chakra spiking in his palms as vines start to twist and coil grotesquely like a monster devouring the innocent. He grasps them, lifts them off the surface of the windowsill and rip them apart, and then compressing, compressing, compressing until none of the blooms are visible, their stems broken, severed, crumpling under the full rage of Tenzou’s chakra, pushing it to something small, smaller, even smaller until what had once been beautiful blossoms that never failed to make the dimples dot on Iruka’s cheeks when he would gently spray them with water in the afternoons now sits as nothing more than chips of fine wood shavings on Tenzou’s palms.

He sets it free outside his window, the wind carrying it away with them, the last of the things in his house that will ever remind him of Iruka.

(The last of his love boxed and tucked away from anyone who may know, or pry. Monsters, after all, aren’t creatures that are able to possess a heart. They simply devour them.)

Tenzou shuts the window sharply.

And proceeds to throw his sheets, mattress and pillow away, remodels all the wooden furniture of his apartment and then steps out to replace what needed to be replaced. The things that he couldn’t make himself get rid of, like the ring that had remained in his utility pouch, gets dumped somewhere in a kitchen junk drawer, where it lies forgotten and unwanted.

(He tells himself he should throw it away. He tells himself that he will.)

The next time Tenzou steps into his apartment, it’s like Iruka never existed at all.

*

Kakashi returns from a mission injured and severely depleted of chakra.

Tenzou isn’t surprised.

Kakashi had a bad habit of being fatalistic with himself when he’s drowning in his own head. Kakashi would throw himself in the line of fire, exhaust all weapons, tactics and chakra to ensure his enemy is decimated, that his comrades are protected. That they all get to go home.

Kakashi is lying in a swath of white under the sheets, staring at an open page of his pink book when Tenzou steps in with his release papers. The only time the hospital will even release someone like Kakashi is if he had someone to care for him post chakra exhaustion. On file, Kakashi had no such person. But with Tenzou volunteering and signing a document to prove that he will obey all strict medical advises, the hospital has no choice but to release Kakashi.

Tenzou steps into Kakashi’s room and is greeted with a bored, tired, black rimmed gaze and a pallid pallor. Kakashi looks like utter shit, the guilt of failing his students festering like an infection over the surface of his skin, robbing him of color and make him look like he’s a step closer to death. Tenzou is well aware of how sensitive to failing people Kakashi is, given his history. As long as the person remains under Kakashi’s care, he will always take it personally. The guilt will show if one knows where to look, and you, Tenzou, you do know where to look. You see it in the deceptive slouch Kakashi guises to the world, when right underneath it, the tendons of his neck are pulled stiff, his forearms flexed and the line of jaw drawn to a taut line, only ever releasing when Kakashi speaks. Kakashi is strained inwards because you know he blames himself for not foreseeing the Uchiha child’s plan to defect, the magnitude of his thirst for power, so much so that he left his teammate passed out in the cold on a bench and his other teammate with a hole in his chest.

A little too close to home, that one. The hole in Naruto’s chest, that is.

When you know that there are similarities between Sasuke and Kakashi. Kakashi had told you himself, one day, before you and Iruka, before you fell in love, right after their mission in Mist, when Kakashi had whispered how he thought the nine-tails was going to break what the Yondaime had sacrificed himself for. You remember the awe, the nervousness, the silent horror in the way Kakashi had candidly mentioned what happened. _Naruto almost broke the seal,_ Kakashi said to you, five words that weighed heavier than lead, his pupils blown wide at the memory, goosebumps breaking over his skin.

You know Kakashi had been nervous then because if the nine-tails were set free, then there’s nobody on the face of the earth right now that exists that would be able to stop it.

Not even someone that’s a genius with a thousand jutsu under his belt like Sharingan Hatake Kakashi.

(Not then, anyway.)

You know all this, do most of the guess work because you know how Kakashi thinks. You’ve known for _years_. It wasn’t always this easy, but with time, you learned.

Which is why it doesn’t surprise you when Kakashi quirks his eyebrow at the release papers, a frown tugging his features downwards at the sight of your name at the bottom. “Tenzou, wouldn’t Iruka mind?”

“No,” Tenzou answers, as neutral and calm as he can possibly manage, just as string snaps somewhere in the depths of his being. “We’re not together anymore, senpai.”

That makes Kakashi blink, his frown deepening, something like disappointment glazing over the surface of his visible grey eye. “I thought the both of you were serious.”

“We both want different things.” Tenzou ducks his head, putting on a show of disappointment, something melancholic gracing the surface of his expression. “It’s better this way,” Tenzou lies.

Because it isn’t.

Not for him. Not for Iruka.

But orders and Konoha supersedes everything else.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kakashi says, sympathetic, something soft tugging the corners of his gaze.

“I’m sorry, too,” Tenzou murmurs, a part of the apology directed to Kakashi, a part of it to Iruka who is kilometers away, teaching his afternoon classes. “You ready to get out of here?”

Kakashi nods. “Please.”

*

It’s so easy to fall into a routine with Kakashi. It’s effortless, doesn’t require much thought.

Kakashi’s apartment isn’t habitable, not for someone who has been recently discharged from the hospital.

Kakashi’s apartment shudders the moment Tenzou steps into it, its interiors dark from the blinds being drawn shut. Kakashi had been gone so long, with little to no rest in between that the corners of his ceilings have become residents to small spiders, barely visible if one doesn’t squint. It would be a total of two months since Kakashi stepped into his apartment, his last set of foot prints visible and darker than the rest of the dust that covers the entire space in a thick film of grey. There is something malodorous radiating from the kitchen sink and bathroom, a sign of stagnant water and drainages that hasn’t been used for too long. Tenzou turns on the taps, lets the water run for a few seconds, listening to it gurgle down the drain before he heads into Kakashi’s bedroom, where he packs the essentials into a duffel bag and leaves the apartment as quietly as he had come.

Kakashi is seated on the sofa, reading his book when Tenzou arrives.

“Want me to order something?” Kakashi asks, not even bothering to look up from his book.

“Sure, whatever you feel like,” Tenzou responds, dropping Kakashi’s duffel bag in the bedroom, grabbing the cordless phone off the kitchen wall and handing it to Kakashi along with a few take out pamphlets.

When Kakashi calls the order in, they sit there in easy companionship, Kakashi reading his book, Tenzou with his feet propped on the table, eyes fixated on the television, watching a rerun of a drama series he had followed last year.

They don’t need words.

They don’t even need to look at each other.

They move around each other like a well oiled machine, knowing when to antipicate what the other wants, passing the napkin, passing the soy sauce, quietly taking the sake out, pouring each other a cup of sake, watching and chuckling at a recorded stand up comedy playing on the cable – it’s like they never spent time apart, like the two years Tenzou spent with Iruka didn’t a put halt to their usual dynamics.

And when that’s all over and Tenzou helps Kakashi up and onto the bed, when Kakashi grabs Tenzou by the arm, a tremble in his fingers, when Tenzou flicks the light switch off, tugs his shirt off and descends upon Kakashi, slanting his mouth over a scarred lip, burying his tongue into the hungry caverns of Kakashi’s mouth, it comes naturally like they’ve been doing this together all their lives.

It's never been difficult being with Kakashi.

In fact, it’s probably Tenzou’s only saving grace.

The fact that he knows how to _be_ with Kakashi, that is.

*

If they don’t spend their time sharing a meal, they are in bed fucking each other.

Sex with Kakashi is never boring.

Sex with Kakashi is always good.

That much hasn’t changed.

Tenzou is lying on his back, the back of his wrist on his forehead, his teeth gritting so hard that his jaw line _aches_ , a throb radiating and throbbing somewhere in his temples. Tenzou has to keep his hands deceptively lax, away from Kakashi, who is fucking him with a curved dildo, coaxing his arousal to return, the toy long and cold and buried deep into Tenzou’s body. The slick of the wooden curvature is of Tenzou’s design, something he had formed with Kakashi whispering directions into his ears, Kakashi cock deep in Tenzou’s ass, his hands on Tenzou’s hands, as if guiding the flow chakra that later on had formed the toy to Kakashi’s specification. That toy now slicks with lewd sounds as it enters and exits Tenzou’s body, wet and glossy with lubricant, all while Kakashi’s sharingan eye spins lazily, watching Tenzou suck in air from as deep as his stomach, his chest heaving with breaths he tries to mute down, to keep quiet, because he should never be too loud no matter how good it feels.

But then Kakashi wraps a hands around Tenzou’s cock, the cold lubricant on his pale fingers warming instantly as Tenzou’s flesh thickens with blood and the new attention, leaving Tenzou slumping there, staring at the ceiling, his legs parted obscenely wide with Kakashi seated in the middle and then –

Tenzou _shudders_.

Because Kakashi is pushing into his body, stretching him, gods, stretching him to the point that Tenzou thinks he’s going to rip in half, filling him with more cock, more flesh, and fuck, fuck, fuck—

“ _Fuck,”_ Tenzou _exhales_ , too loud for his own liking. He reigns himself inwards, eyebrows knitting as he scrunches his eyes, his teeth bared to the ceiling, palms adjusted so that his spine curves to a C, as Kakashi firmly takes Tenzou’s hands and places it on the handle of the dildo still protruding from his ass.

“Go on,” Kakashi urges, as he _grinds_ his hips forward and up. “Fuck yourself.”

Tenzou does.

Gods, how he fucks himself. All while Kakashi fucks him. A lubricous rhythm of hard wood and hard flesh, the dildo filling him and then pulling out in sync with Kakashi’s cock, leaving Tenzou grinding his teeth even more as his body is ripped form the center, his nerves on fire, his toes curling into the sheets and every bit of his muscle pulled taut as he rides his own and Kakashi brutal pace until he comes.

Comes with abandon, shaking under the shadow of Kakashi’s body, who looks down at him with something tugging around the corners of his lips, partial amusement, partial pleasure, partial smugness, something that makes the heat flare in Tenzou’s stomach because really, Kakashi truly is a perverted man.

(And you indulge him.)

Kakashi kisses him then once he’s done emptying himself into Tenzou’s body. It’s slow, gentle, almost like Tenzou is made of glass, like Tenzou is soft, one of the things that Kakashi wants to keep safe. Kakashi’s hands come over Tenzou’s easily sliding the dildo out of his ass and carelessly setting it aside, the wooden toy landing with a thump somewhere, forgotten, until it’s just Kakashi’s half hard cock in Tenzou’s body, and the aftermath of his release.

“I missed you, you know,” Kakashi admits, brushing their noses together as Tenzou lies there limp on the bed.

“Did you…” Tenzou raspily murmurs, unable to form anything more coherent than those two words.

He looks up and finds Kakashi looking at him, something different gleaming on the surfaces of his mismatched gaze. Tenzou watches as Kakashi brings Tenzou’s hand up to his stubbled cheek, covering the scarred eye with a warm, clammy palm. Kakashi’s eyelashes flutter shut against Tenzou’s palm and then he’s left there, staring up at his senpai, watching something small and almost vulnerable rise to the surface in the space of just a few heart beats.

It comes and goes.

Like a flicker of candle light in a still room.

The flame only sways once before it stands eerily still again.

Tenzou swallows with a soft exhale, as Kakashi pulls out of him gently, carefully lying on his side and throwing an around Tenzou’s middle, easy, familiar, completely effortless. No words were required.

*

It isn’t difficult to commit to Kakashi.

Even though Kakashi doesn’t necessarily commit to him.

Kakashi still spends time with Gai, his oldest and one of his most trusted comrades.

Tenzou doesn’t mind.

He frankly doesn’t care.

He only cares about his own commitment to Kakashi, his self pledged loyalty to Kakashi, his unshakeable trust that he hands to Kakashi with both his willing hands, his promise to keep him safe, whole and grounded, to remain at his side, no matter what comes, to ensure that he is strong, always so strong and ready to take the Hokage seat should that day ever come.

Besides, Gai is a good guy who Tenzou knows is a person he can truly count on to take care of Kakashi’s needs. Tenzou after all, goes on for periods where he isn’t in the village. There is also the fact that his missions may one day be the end of him. It brings Tenzou comfort and helps him close his eyes at night during travel breaks to know that Kakashi isn’t left alone.

That Kakashi at least still has Gai to lean on in Tenzou’s absence, whether that absence is temporary or permanent.

*

When Tenzou is alone, however, he misses Iruka.

Sometimes, he gets a _yearning_ so strong to want to wrap his arms around Iruka again, to smell that wondrous, heady scent of orange and cinnamon, to bury his face into silky locks of hair and taste Iruka’s smile in the morning.

The thought comes unbidden, sneaking up on Tenzou when he least expects it, like when he’s pouring tea or when one day, Kakashi orders donburi and spinach gomaee. Two things that Iruka constantly cooked for him because it is Tenzou’s favorite.

But what Kakashi orders in doesn’t taste as good as what Iruka makes.

There are times when Tenzou would lie awake in the morning, Kakashi still fast asleep on the bed, where he’d look over at the window and watch the sun rise and think of how Iruka used to murmur for him to get more sleep, because it’s too early, his voice raspy and almost imcomprehensible, for where brushes over Tenzou’s shoulder. There are times when Tenzou would look at the mirror, in the middle of shaving, and _almost_ imagined Iruka stepping in and up from behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle to press lips on the center of Tenzou’s back.

Sometimes it’s when Tenzou sees the Academy, looming in the distance, and he wonders how Iruka is doing, if he can sneak him off at lunch break – only to catch himself and realize that he can’t do that anymore. He shouldn’t be thinking of that anymore.

And then he’d miss Iruka, all over again, a vacuum suddenly opening up in the middle of his abdomen, morphing into something dark and bottomless, where it sucks out of all Tenzou’s energy and leaves him with nothing more than a yawning disappointment and unending yearning that he doesn’t quite know how to bury just yet.

(It’s too soon, after all. It’s only been a few weeks.)

It’s moments like these that Tenzou keeps his gaze down, fighting an impossible war that he is most determined to win.

It’s moments like these that he is glad when Kakashi fucks him on all fours, just so that Tenzou can bury his face in the pillows and choke the memories of Iruka until it fades to black.

*

It isn’t difficult to meet Kakashi’s needs when Kakashi spends most of his time in Tenzou’s apartment, rarely in his own anymore as the months go by and they continue to be assigned on missions together.

Kakashi’s mission gear, weapons and scrolls find their way to Tenzou’s apartment. Tenzou creates a storage unit in disguise of furniture for Kakashi to keep his things in, along with a few shelves for his books. His clothes start to appear more in Tenzou’s space, as months stretches to a year and then some more until one day, Tenzou finds his apartment far too small, with far too many stacked storage units for himself and Kakashi.

He makes note of this after he stubs his toe against the corner of a furniture for the umpteenth time that leaves Kakashi chuckling.

“Maybe we should just get a bigger space,” Kakashi’s voice drifts from the sofa, as Tenzou bends to examine his toe by the bedroom door. “That way, you’d stop stubbing your toe.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that almost sounds like commitment in Hatake Kakashi speak,” Tenzou teases, bemused, as he straightens only to find Kakashi looking at him with a serious look. Something that leaves him rooted on the spot because he didn’t expect that. At all.

“What if I am?” Kakashi blinks once, his voice a deceptive dead pan.

“Then I have to ask, senpai, are you sure?” Tenzou throws right back, wanting the ball to remain in Kakashi’s side of the court.

Kakashi hums, turning his attention back at the television. He speaks of an address, somewhere on the other side of the village, something quieter, bigger, spacier, the units new, and a bit of a luxury but the space, from what Tenzou has heard, is generous and plenty. “Why don’t you ask to see the second two-bedroom model? One of the rooms can be turned to a study. You can sketch properly that way.”

Tenzou’s mouth go dry, something pinching in his throat. He’s not sure why exactly, except his voice comes out a little shaky, heat spreading over his ears and down the length of his neck.

(Once upon a time, he had thought of a forever too. One that had more space and not just a studio or a one-bedroom apartment. One with a garden, and a table, maybe even a gazebo or a swing, where his beloved can read at night and be surrounded by beautiful things that define his character. Once upon a time, he too had sort of looked at new living space. Once upon a time…)

“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow.”

*

The apartment is airy, with a large spacious kitchen that in essence, can house all of Kakashi’s summons at meal time, including a dog of Bull’s size. It doesn’t have a lot of glass windows like most of the new apartments that are being built, and it’s in the corner of the block with the apartment looking outwards to the green and the distant shape of the Eastern gate. It’s not a five-star view but it is quiet, peaceful, with a lot of privacy due to less windows and more than enough floor space for the both of them.

Tenzou tells Kakashi it’s a good apartment.

The next day, Kakashi hands him a copy of the lease that’s under Kakashi’s name, with Tenzou’s name as the secondary tenant and a key.

“Make sure there’s enough room on the bed for the both of us,” Kakashi says, dropping the key into Tenzou’s palm.

It makes Tenzou snort in amusement.

“Of course, senpai,” Tenzou mutters, punctuating the statement with a bit of an eye roll.

*

The bed sits large and wide, right under the window in their bedroom, good enough to fit three adult men if they negotiate their limbs carefully, plenty of room for just Tenzou and Kakashi. Moving into the apartment doesn’t take very long, no more than a day and half, boxes scattered everywhere along with the newly delivered two-seater and three-seater sofa set that they are yet to agree on where it should go.

They don’t really get to talk about unpacking, or get anything done the rest of the day, before Kakashi has Tenzou pinned against the bedroom door, as he slides down to his knees, and parts his lips for Tenzou’s cock, sucking flesh hungrily, greedily, like he’s a man starved. Tenzou is forced to grip the edges of the of the doorframe, white knuckled, a corner of his eye twitching when Kakashi hums and chuckles amusedly around his hard flesh, something that Tenzou effectively silences when he grabs the back of Kakashi’s head with his fingers, fisting them into his hair as he snaps his hips forward, _choking_ Kakashi with flesh, leaving him gagging, his jaw slacking, saliva and precum dribbling down his chin and onto a hot mess on the floor.

Kakashi’s eyes roll back at the sheer force of Tenzou’s hips, his mouth a glistening mess of gossamer strands as Tenzou proceeds to fuck his mouth abandon, thrusting into the hot cavern, past the brush of Kakashi’s teeth until Kakashi is reduced to a blubbering hungry mess under him, his cheeks flushed, veins protruding around his temples, down his neck, his chest even redder with the lack of breath and heat.

Tenzou pulls his cock out all of sudden, leaving Kakashi to sag forward as he wrenches his hand free of Kakashi’s hair. Kakashi who tips forward, catching himself on fists on the floor, his jaw wide open, probably numb from having been stretched too wide, strands of saliva and Tenzou’s precum hanging from his slack lips, slowly stretching to the floor.

“Get up,” Tenzou mutters, nudging the door behind him open with a hip, as Kakashi shakily gets on his feet, his arousal tenting the front of his pants, the fabric stained and dark with precum.

Tenzou makes an open gesture for Kakashi towards the bed, and then says, “Bend over, senpai. Take your pants off.”

The command makes Kakashi’s breath visibly hitch as he obeys wordlessly, obediently, undoing the fastenings of his pants and pushing it down with his underwear, side stepping and ever so carefully and fluidly, gets on his knees on bed, his ass exposed in the air, entrance clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

It is with roughness that Tenzou pries that entrance open with his fingers, slick with the cold gel of the lubricant, pushing the tight ring of muscle wide open until Kakashi’s breath start to come out in loud, harsh pants through gritted teeth, the line of his back pulled taut with tension and pleasure warring against each other, his body fighting the intrusion but also pulling it all the way in. Greedily, readily, needy.

Tenzou spends less time preparing and more time leaving Kakashi hanging, with nothing but the air caressing his ass and balls, his cock dribbling a sticking mess on to the new plastic covered mattress, curved upwards and eager, engorged red and twitching with anticipation. Tenzou takes his time slicking lubricant over is own cock, letting Kakashi wait, testing his patience, until it takes too long and Kakashi turns to _look_ over his shoulder, his eyes hooded and at half mast, something sharp glimmering in the surface of it, impatient, hungry.

“What?” Tenzou asks, unable to stop his own lips from curving upwards in a lopsided grin. “You want to fuck yourself instead?” Tenzou asks, shrugging, letting go of his cock.

He watches as Kakashi swallows again, blinking a few times and away before he hangs his head down in submission.

 _Thought so_ , Tenzou thinks as he unceremoniously grabs Kakashi by the thighs, yanks his knees down and onto the floor, as Kakashi catches most of his weight on his forearms on the mattress. Tenzou then _lifts_ him up by the hips, bracing his grip on Kakashi’s thighs, and begins to push into the tight ring of muscle until he fully seats himself into Kakashi’s body. Kakashi _keens_ when Tenzou pushes forward, all the way until the hilt, Kakashi’s feet dangling helplessly by Tenzou’s thighs, no solid purchase under it. Like this, Kakashi is helpless, rendered powerless, his weight only suspended by Tenzou’s hold and pitched forward all the way to his shoulders and elbows on the plastic covered mattress.

Tenzou fucks him like that, skin slapping on skin loudly, lewdly, Kakashi’s balls swinging in the air with piston like momentum that Tenzou sets, each thrust forcing a _noise_ past Kakashi’s throat until he comes with a shudder, his back arching, muscles spasming and his cum splattering all over the mattress.

Tenzou doesn’t stop the pace, doesn’t allow Kakashi to recover, continuously fucking his sensitized entrance, brushing against his prostrate over and over again until Kakashi makes a garbled, _helpless_ noise at the back of his throat. Almost vulnerable in its tenor.

That’s when Tenzou comes, flooding Kakashi with his release before he drops him on the floor in a crash of limbs, flesh and humiliation.

Kakashi remains curled against the bed, his own cum smearing on his chest and cheek, as Tenzou takes a staggering step back to catch his breath, cum staining his cock and dripping on to the floor.

“Do you like the bed?” Tenzou asks, when he manages to find himself again.

“Mmm,” Kakashi hums from where he is on the floor, boneless, grinning lopsidedly. “It’s great.”

*

“Did you want to put plants?” Kakashi asks, as they unpack and agree on where the couch should face.

Tenzou is in the middle of untangling wires and setting up their cable and television when his fingers pause for a heart beat.

No.

No, he didn’t want to put plants in this house. It would remind him too much of Iruka.

“No, senpai,” he murmurs, and continues to fiddle with the wires.

*

One day, Tenzou wakes up dreaming of Iruka.

He wakes up from a memory, of Iruka tucked under his arm one winter, as they watch television, socked feet tangled around each other, empty tea cups long gone cold on the center table. Iruka had his arms wrapped around Tenzou’s middle, his fingers drumming gently on Tenzou’s chest, breath even and slow as he stares off at a point in the distance, past his bookshelf and at the window above his bed beyond.

“Something on your mind, Iruka-sensei?” Tenzou asks, turning away from the television to look down at Iruka, his fingers tugging at a loose lock of hair, twirling it lazily around his finger.

“Hmm, no, just thinking,” Iruka murmurs, his lips brushing against the muscled curve of Tenzou’s shoulder.

“About?” Tenzou leans over, pressing his lips over Iruka’s temple.

“How lucky I am to have met you,” Iruka answers, soft, like it’s a secret.

“I should send Fumiko-san a fruit basket. What do you think?” Tenzou asks, grinning when Iruka laughs and buries his face into Tenzou’s shoulder. “Seriously. If it wasn’t for her, I would have never met you.”

They fall into a gentle silence, with Tenzou’s hand tugging Iruka closer, his cheek coming to rest on the crown of Iruka’s head. “Are you happy, Tenzou?”

Tenzou doesn’t answer immediately, as he thinks about the question. It must be happiness, the way Tenzou’s fingers always tingle as he approaches Konoha when he’s been away for too long, the same way it would tingle when he’s apprehensive about a fight, or trouble looming ahead during a mission, except this is warmer. It would always pass through him like a warm, summer ocean wave, washing everything away the moment he steps into the village proper, cross the distrcits between the gates and Iruka’s apartment, and step into comfort, familiarity and home, leaving him suddenly so energized, alive and refreshed inside out. And during the moments when Iruka would be home when he returns, he would wrap his arms around the sturdy, lean built of Iruka’s body, just as the wave fades and Tenzou savors the memory of its gentle touch, his being made whole once more now that he had Iruka in his arms, and Iruka’s lips against his own.

What would follow are hours of laughter, jokes, warm meals and sometimes even silly jokes. What would follow is the warmth of Iruka’s body, them losing themselves in each other, with Iruka’s lips whispering the syllables of Tenzou’s name like a prayer, a thing to be revered when before Iruka, Tenzou had been nothing more than a weapon to be used, and when obsolete, perhaps discarded.

Coming home to Iruka had made Tenzou more confident, made something stronger grow and steady the soles of his feet upon the land he stands. Coming home to Iruka had given him courage he didn’t know he could possess.

It made him so strong. So, so strong that he had rarely failed mission during his time with Iruka.

So it must be happiness. All this, that is.

Tenzou takes Iruka’s hand that on his chest, wraps his hand around in a firm, warm, reassuring grip, turns his head and whispers, “I am.”

*

Tenzou wakes up with a sharp inhale, his hand curled around something invisible on his chest, the room dark and dawn not yet touching the horizon. He lies still, motionless, his heart suddenly racing, as he swallows past the sudden tightness in his throat and balls the hand on his chest into a tight fist.

Only to release it when cool fingers brush the curve of his shoulder gently, hesitantly, a silent question because he and Kakashi never needed words.

They still don’t.

Tenzou swallows, sucks in a shuddering inhale and reaches up to press a hand over Kakashi’s palm.

 _Go back to sleep,_ the gesture says.

And Kakashi does.

*

Tenzou tells himself to stop thinking about Iruka all together.

He tells him that it’s not right. Not when he’s given Kakashi his commitment, his loyalty, his trust.

*

So Tenzou does his best to bury all of Iruka. Does his best to cut him out from the softest parts of him. He puts Iruka at the back of his mind, controls the things he can control when he’s awake, like focusing on Kakashi’s kisses that are as hot as the searing sun, when Tenzou tastes mint tea and smells pine and open fields.

(Not oranges. Not cinnamon.)

When Kakashi is roguishly handsome in his scarred and war beaten body, the topography of scars that cuts like harsh lines on a his strong built are badges of survival, something that Tenzou knows, has memorized over the years, every dip, every curve and raised skin.

When Kakashi sometimes would wrap arms around his middle, kiss Tenzou’s neck in the morning, their apartment never truly getting fully unpacked, their belongings just coming out of the boxes when they need them.

When Kakashi asks him if he’s seen his stash of empty sealing scrolls, or if he knows where the spare towels are. When Kakashi would sometimes brush fingers over Tenzou’s hip, or sometimes just look at him and lopsided smile, turning his face away to whatever it is he had been in the middle of doing.

It almost works.

Tenzou almost gets that ghost sensation of a tingle in his fingers. Almost.

He almost stops dreaming of Iruka.

*

Except Tenzou gets reinstated as Team Seven’s captain.

And then Pain comes.

Only for Tenzou to learn how much Kakashi had truly wanted to die, how his life had ended short because he stepped in to protect a comrade, how he stepped in when Pain had questioned Umino Iruka where the Jinchuriki is, and Kakashi had put himself between Pain and the man Tenzou had loved.

(Still loves.)

It is in the quiet aftermath of Konoha’s destruction that Tenzou finds Kakashi, after having heard all this, how everyone had died only to come back alive. He finds Kakashi standing in an open field, looking battle torn, his hands shaking, his eye unfocused as he tries to comprehend why he is even alive. When he shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t be anymore.

Tenzou grabs Kakashi by the shoulders, wraps arms around him and tucks Kakashi’s face into his neck, hiding him from the world when Kakashi is shaking apart. Hoping that he has the strength to see through this, to get past this, to hold Kakashi together because more than ever, they need to be strong.

“I know it’s not easy,” Tenzou says, one night, later, much later, when he hears what Kakashi has to say. When he hears Kakashi says he saw his father. “But I’m glad you’re still with us, senpai.”

The words aren’t a lie. It isn’t an empty statement.

Tenzou is glad that Kakashi is alive.

He wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to him, at this point.

*

Then the war happens.

And they loose everything.

Tenzou wakes up after Infinite Tsukiyomi thinking of not Iruka, but Kakashi, the man he’s told himself to keep safe no matter what, the man he’s committed to.

Tenzou wakes up and staggers like he’s caught in a nightmare, of what his body had done, how it had fueled thousands if not million clones that annilated hundreds of lives. Tenzou wakes up with guilt in his chest, horror gleaming over his eyes until he stumbles upon what remains of Konoha, where Kakashi finds him, runs to him, grabs him by the shoulders and holds him tight. So, so tight.

And all Tenzou can do is apologize. Over and over again.

“It’s all right, it’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault,” Kakashi says.

Tenzou almost believes him. Almost. And like every single time they almost lose, Tenzou puts one feet forward and keeps moving ahead, one day at a time.

(Because what else can one do, after a war?)

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh. I dunno. But thank you for reading if you've reached this far! I don't really ship KKYM so I hope that wasn't very obvious in this chapter.


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Please mind the tags. All tags pertaining to this story has been slapped on. It may not all unfold/be obvious at the beginning but it will. So if any of the tags make you uncomfortable, don't read. You've been warned.

Kakashi gets inaugurated as the Hokage when Konoha is nothing more than temporary structures as they contract contractors to begin building and restoring the village. Kakashi’s inauguration is unofficial in the sense that there isn’t a celebratory ceremony, not when Konoha remains in shambles, when she is barely even standing save for the boundary walls that is close to completion. A big part of Kakashi does not want the title, to be appointed the head of command when he knows, deep down, he is nothing more than a seat warmer for the future Nanadaime. While Naruto is a lot more deserving of the title, while Naruto would be the fittest candidate to spearhead Konoha’s future, and while Konoha currently stands as mostly rubble, Konoha is not lawless.

It’s silly, how laws still remain enforced. It’s silly that one’s deed cannot grant him his title, when Naruto is more than just a hero.

He is the epitome of peace.

Unfortunately, the council isn’t wrong. If they do not follow their laws even in the midst of severe destruction, then they cannot be called a state. Their laws, however unimportant at the time, must remain enforced or otherwise, there would be chaos. Even someone like Naruto, who has done so much for Konoha, has saved all their leaves, cannot be put above the law.

So Naruto, much to Kakashi’s inner dismay, cannot be the Hokage.

Which leaves him to take hold of the command instead. Much to his dismay and hesitant acceptance of the title.

(It’s a big responsibility for someone like him who doesn’t know how to hold on to things that are the most important. His hands, after all, were never that strong to begin with.)

*

It is early spring when the Hokage tower, administration building, ANBU headquarters and Torture and Interrogation unit gets completed. It is also during spring that Kakashi gets told to move to the now completed official Hokage residence. That despite how he must feel about things, and that while the sympathy extends to the still displaced people who live within temporarily erected barracks and camp sites along the boundary walls of Konoha, their leader must still act and show that he is a leader.

Some days, Kakashi thinks that the council that is mostly composed of two generations old of men and women deserves a fist through the chest. Sometimes, he wonders if their humanity, their empathy had died with all the men and women whoa re nothing but ash and bones in the ground all those years ago, all those battles and wars ago.

Kakashi isn’t the kind of man to follow tradition.

He is _tired_ of this thing called tradition.

When they are living among ruins in a world that had been thrown in total chaos, absolute darkness.

But he understands.

He understands that they cannot succumb to comfort, expediency, mere surface knowledge and disregard all of their ancestral heritage. Tghey cannot simply cater to the lowest standards of taste, intelligence, and ultimately disrespect for all things that is inherently higher and better.

He understands.

This is their duty, after all. Their duty to Konoha, to Fire, as shinobi.

Sometimes though, Kakashi wishes that he didn’t.

*

He finds Tenzou one evening, when Kakashi manages to find a few minutes to himself. Precious minutes where he’s not going through state bureaucracy or trying to filter the amount of able bodied shinobi to be sent out on missions. He finds Tenzou standing in line with several other jounins, assisting in building deep trenches for the drainage system their contractors are working day and night to get done.

Tenzou is like the hundreds of others. He is tired, spread to thin, his body sitting a little gaunter, most of his bulk lost to weeks upon weeks of limited field ration and little not much maintenance training. Like many, Tenzou’s eyes are shrouded in a sea of fatigue, cloudy and a little unsteady, as he straightens from his position on the ground, earth chakra rescinding as he pushes himself up to his feet with a shaking hand on one knee.

Feet, that Kakashi knows, are begging to find somewhere warm, comfortable, to perhaps enjoy some form of warmth and stay right there. That Tenzou’s mind must be begging to put a stop to the constant spin of orders, of things to get done after the war, to simply halt and _breathe_. Where his now leaner body must want nothing more than lie on its back, curl upon a pillow and clean sheets, maybe even indulge in a hot bath, wash the aches and exhaustion away, perhaps wear a uniform that isn’t two to three days old of wear. To simply be human once more and not a man with talents to facilitate the rebuilding of their village.

Kakashi should be here, with the chuunins and jounins, his hands on the ground, his chakra seeping into the earth.

He should be out here, helping, doing more than just handing out orders or approving and rejecting state requests.

(You are a weapon. Men like you do not belong on the highest seat of the state. You belong in the bloodshed, the horror, the war.)

Tenzou spots him from several feet away. He turns to face Kakashi, a questioning look crossing his neutral features. It’s there in the way Tenzou’s eyebrows slope downwards, just the tiniest bit, a bit of concern reflecting in the dark depths.

“Move into the manor,” Kakashi says, when he stops in front of Tenzou.

Tenzou is quiet for a while, ever so stoic as he processes what sounds like an order to everyone, but not to Tenzou. No, Tenzou would know from the statement alone how much Kakashi loaths the manor, the grandness of it, how its too much space for one man. How it just isn’t right to have that kind of luxury while the rest of the village remains in camps.

Tenzou inhales slowly and exhales even slower. And then says, “Okay.”

*

The next evening, Tenzou and his wood clones are at Kakashi’s front door, carrying three boxes, three measly 24 x 16 boxes into the new official residence of the Hokage. Tenzou explains that their previous apartment has completed sorting whatever it is that can be salvaged from the rubble, that whatever they had owned are contained within those three boxes.

He and Tenzou had lived sparingly in the sense that most of the contents of their apartment had been things that can be easily replaced. In hindsight, Kakashi cares little for its contents, but supposes that he should be grateful that he has something from the past. Perhaps a team photo, or maybe his father’s old tanto blade. He should be grateful he has something when others have lost _everything_.

Memories, after all, are all Kakashi ever had.

Kakashi points at a corner, telling Tenzou to leave it there for them to unpack later. That right now, it isn’t important.

“You look like shit,” Kakashi murmurs, one hand coming up the center of Tenzou’s back in a gentle and comforting caress. “Why don’t you go relax for a bit? I ordered us dinner.”

“Thanks, senpai,” Tenzou says, his voice soft, almost a sigh that belies how deep his exhaustion truly is.

Kakashi watches Tenzou ascend the stairs, his footsteps sluggish, watches as he rounds the corner of the banister and heads straight for the only open door that is to be their shared bedroom once more.

*

But Tenzou doesn’t come back down for dinner. Because Tenzou remains lying on his back on the bed, uncaring that his damp hair has soaked through the duvet and sheets, his legs dangling on the edge and towel still wrapped around slimmer hips. Kakashi finds Tenzou fast asleep, his face turned to the side, lips parted, breaths deep but senses still ever sharp.

Tenzou is stirring before Kakashi sets foot into the room, a hand languidly coming up to rub at his temples. “Sorry…” Tenzou murmurs, looking quite put upon at the fact that he had fallen asleep, that his body had failed him.

“You’re tired,” Kakashi murmurs, a hand coming to settle over Tenzou’s neck in a gentle caress. “Come on, get in bed.”

“It’s all right, senpai, I could use something to eat…” Tenzou reasons, eyes at half mast that he tries to widen by blinking a few times.

“You’re barely awake as it is. Get in bed, that’s an order.” Kakashi tugs the duvet open, a part of him pleased that Tenzou doesn’t argue, but also concerned at how slow Tenzou is moving, how he crawls into bed with a groan, and settles down on the pillow with a sigh he can't control, towel forgotten on the floor, his eyes shutting almost immediately. Kakashi gets into bed too, tugging the slighter frame against him, saddened at the sudden lack of strength under Tenzou’s skin, how the war has stripped him of his strength. Tenzou doesn’t even fight him when Kakashi tucks Tenzou’s head under his chin, pale fingers carding through damp, ashy brown hair. They’re longer now, Kakashi notes fondly, with just a touch of melancholy. The last time Tenzou had looked like this, Tenzou was thirteen and fresh out Root’s grasp.

“Senpai…?”

“Just rest,” Kakashi says, whisper soft, his cheek leaning against the crown of Tenzou’s head. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“All right…”

(Sometimes, you find yourself wondering why Tenzou continues to stay with you when he clearly had someone better. Someone whole. Someone who isn't wretched like yourself. Someone kinder, who walks in the sun, whose hands must be better than yours can ever be. Surely, Iruka is better than you in every way that counts. Tenzou spent two years being with him and you know that he doesn't just do that for anyone. He didn't with you. And just like every time you remember this, when you realise your worthlessness, you are grateful that he chooses to remain by your side. That he hasn't left you. That you still get to be with him.)

*

Tenzou sleeps for a full day, and wakes up the next evening looking a little disoriented, and if possible, even more tired. Kakashi had gotten up and left for the morning, only to come back into bed with Tenzou still fast asleep the same way he had left him earlier that morning.

  
Tenzou wakes up in Kakashi’s arms, slow and gradual.

“What time is it?” Tenzou asks.

“A little after nine PM,” Kakashi responds, his voice low, fingers tangled in Tenzou’s hair. “Feel better?”

“A little,” Tenzou groans, pushing himself off Kakashi to sit up, rotating his neck, popping his joints. “I missed a whole day of work. You should have woken me up.”

“It’s all right, you needed the rest. It’s counterproductive to work when you’re drained,” Kakashi says.

Tenzou knows this more than anyone. He doesn’t argue back, doesn’t bother justifying his need for rest. Instead, he turns to look at Kakashi, his head tilted and asks.

“How have you been?” Tenzou asks.

“Mmm, as good as one can be, given the circumstances,” Kakashi says, shifting so sit up straighter against the headboard.

“How’s Gai?” Tenzou tilts his head, something softening in his gaze.

Gai, Kakashi thinks, as something sharp tugs at the softest part of him.

Gai is strong, Kakashi wants to say, stronger than all of us can ever dream of being. He chooses to remain in the hospital, to assist with rehabilitating our injured men and women, our children, when he himself is compromised. Gai hasn’t changed, despite the fact that he is confined to a wheel chair, despite the fact that there is little to no hope of him ever walking again. He told me that Tsunade is looking into using the same technique and the Shodaime’s DNA to regrow parts of his damaged nerves and bone structure the way she did with Naruto’s arm. He told me that even if it doesn’t work, it’s not going to stop him from training. Gai is strong. He’s always been strong. Gai tells me to not worry, that I shouldn’t concern myself with him not being able to walk. That he loves me all the same even if I choose not to be with him anymore. Gai is… Gai is better than all of us. He always has beem. And frankly, he’s too good for me. And I’m too selfish to let him go. A part of me hopes he can walk again. A part of me hopes Tsunade is successful. I’m just not sure she will be.

“He’s doing all right,” Kakashi says instead, his gaze drifting downwards to the folds on the sheets.

The silence that follows is broken when Tenzou’s hands come up to press against Kakashi’s shoulders, warm, solid, dependable. “Is he now?”

Kakashi swallows thickly and smiles a little self deprecatingly. “For someone who’s tired, you sure are talkative tonight.”

“Oh? Are you going to do something about it, then?” Tenzou asks, tilting his head, exposing the curve of his neck, a bit of a lopsided bemused smirk tugging around the corners of his lips.

Kakashi does.

Do something about it that is.

*

They _fuck_ for hours, right there on the bed, a tangle of limbs, sweat and cum.

They tear each other down, only to end up holding each other again. Kakashi is limp in Tenzou’s hands by the time Tenzou is done, his eyes fixated on the ceiling, breath even, as Tenzou lowers him back down on the mattress, tugging a pillow under his head. Kakashi remains boneless, tired, eyes fluttering shut for rest that finally comes, as the screams in his head lull to a hush for a change, choked to silence by the hands that had been previously around Kakashi’s neck, his control to be strong, always so, so goddamn strong, stripped away by steadier, stronger hands that he trusts. Tenzou knows when to squeeze, when to choke his mouth with flesh to keep the screaming from spilling out, knows just how much he can push Kakashi over the edge, to surrender and give up all that power, all that control, so that for one blinding moment, he is just a man who has lost everyone, buried everyone, a man with a hundred broken promises forever stuck in a mourning reality of the past.

Kakashi closes his eyes and sleeps.

And for once, since they had all stumbled home, since he held Gai in his arms because Gai had no strength in his legs anymore, Kakashi sleeps.

*

They wake up hours later, foregoing the sunrise and waking up to sunset instead, their bodies aching, messy, something that they end up looking at each other for only to snort at each other and laugh. They end up having to scrub the sex off their bodies with a little more force, bodies fitted beside each other in the spacious shower stall, water falling from the ceiling like rain as they lather up and converse about the on-going construction effort and Naruto’s arm rehabilitation. The conversation continues as they dry off, change and start unpacking the take out Kakashi had brought with him from the previous night, something they didn’t get to eat because, well, neither of them bothered.

“It doesn’t smell bad, does it?” Tenzou asks, taking a cautious sniff at the take out container before offering it to Kakashi.

Kakashi had a more sensitive nose. He takes one sniff and then shakes his head. “Let’s not. Unless you want something exploding later and not the sexy kind.”

“Right…” Tenzou stares at the container of shrimp fried rice a little forlornly, his stomach grumbling. He sighs and starts packing up everything into the

“I should have put it in the fridge,” Kakashi mutters, sounding disappointed as well, his stomach grumbling a little more audibly.

“I’ll go get something. Anything in particular you want?” Tenzou asks, wrapping everything up in the paper bag and taking it with him to throw into the dumpster outside the gates.

“Whatever is the quickest.” Kakashi shrugs, heading out of the spacious kitchen that can fit perhaps twenty people comfortably to pad to the living room.

Gods, does he hate this house.

*

“ANBU is going to need a new head of command,” Kakashi says, a good two hours later, seated in the kitchen and tucking hungrily into a rice bowl. “I’m thinking of appointing you.” Tenzou doesn’t respond immediately, momentarily pausing mid-chew before he dips his head in a nod. “I’m going to have start sending you out on missions soon.”

“How soon?” Tenzou asks, looking up from his meal to meet Kakashi’s gaze.

“As soon as possible,” Kakashi says, as something tangles around and suffocates something small and tender in his chest. “Maybe by the end of the week. You should – I think you should spend the next few days recuperating, gathering your strength. Maybe focus on organizing what little we have left of ANBU.”

Tenzou drops his gaze slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing at this new responsibility. “We don’t have much left…”

“I know,” Kakashi sighs, full of nothing but regret. “But we make do with what we have. You know our ANBU team better. I leave it to you to decide on how to split them into teams. Because we need more bodies, I will be putting out a circular to call back all retired ANBU agents.”

Tenzou nods slowly, swallowing once more before he raises his gaze back up to Kakashi, something dark and fierce and gods, so strong and dependable glimmering under his dark gaze. “I’ll do my best.”

“There’s no one better,” Kakashi reasons. “I leave ANBU in your hands, Tenzou. You know that also kind of makes you my right hand and my official guard, right?”

Kakashi cannot help but feel like he can breathe, just a little bit, when Tenzou responds, “I am honored by the opportunity. You can count on me, senpai.”

*

The world continues to turn while they bury the dead and hold countless funerals as displaced citizens continues to return to Konoha. Some from various small farming villages in Fire and some from Turtle Island.

The world continues to move forward, with winter giving way to spring and after it, the unbearable heat wave of summer.

One day, Kakashi visits Gai and finds him sitting on his chair, staring at his toes that _move_ , tears in his eyes, his cheeks flushed crimson. They wiggle just the tiniest bit, mere centimeters in movement. It hardly means anything for a shinobi, when the rest of you is broken and obsolete. But Gai _weeps_ because in that moment, he isn’t strong, he isn’t so full of optism, he isn’t clamoring onto hope that may end up being hopeless.

Kakashi huffs a strangled sound at the sight of those toes _moving_. Wiggling. Somethnig strangled manages to tear itself past his throat, as he drops to his knees beside Gai’s wheelchair, staring at it unebelievingly, a film of salt gathering around the corners of his eyes as he looks up at Gai and words fail him.

“It works,” Gai chokes, bringing a forearm to his eyes to cover himself because in this moment, Gai is weak. Gai is small and just a man who’s been trying so hard to be strong for every other shinobi around him. “It works, Kakashi.”

And Kakashi cannot stop the smile from cracking across his face, as he reaches up and wraps his arms around Gai, as he holds him as tight as he possibly can in his arms, muffling Gai’s sobs against his chest. Kakashi closes his eyes, as something hot begins to track down his cheeks, soaking through his mask. He leans forward and presses lips over the crown of Gai’s head, burying his nose into soft, thick, dark hair, inhaling deeply and wetly, taking in the scent of summer waves and the sea shore, of endless sunshine and strong will.

“You got this, Gai,” Kakashi says, as Gai nods in his arms, laughing through his tears. “Just a little more…”

*

The world continues to move forward, with Konoha gradually starting to look like it’s former glory. Kakashi and Tenzou rarely see each other anymore, with ANBU going on mission at full capacity, with Tenzou training new recruits if he is in the village and not engaged in a mission. Kakashi hasn’t seen him for more than thirty minutes at a time, because if Tenzou isn’t fast asleep and resting, then he’s in the ANBU medical ward recovering from an injury.

“I’m okay,” Tenzou says, one day when he and Kakashi manages to find time long enough for their mouths to slant against each other and their fists to wrap around each other’s cocks. “Don’t worry.”

“Who said I was?” Kakashi points out.

Tenzou smirks at; Tenzou after all, can always see through a lie better than anyone else in Kakashi’s life.

*

One day, Kakashi visits Gai and finds him grinning ear to ear, standing on two crutches. On that day, Gai shows him how he is able to bed his legs at the knee.

Kakashi thinks he’s never seen anyone more beautiful.

*

It takes a year and half after the war for things the world to slow down just a little. A year and a half for things to run a little smoothly. Kakashi finds it a little easier to breathe once the Academy re-opens, the last thing on his agenda to restore normalcy. He finds himself able to sit with a bit of a genuinely comfortable slouch when the re-opening ceremony concludes, the quadrangle lined with hundreds of children, all eager to start their day despite having survived the war just a year and a half ago.

Konoha recovers.

Konoha survives.

And for that, Kakashi finds himself grateful to his people’s efforts and hard work.

*

But with Konoha being restored comes the demand for utter normalcy. Normalcy that comes in the shape of sending Naruto, Sakura and Sai out on missions. A mission to Moon that shouldn’t have taken more than a few weeks given the travel time.

Weeks that stretches unnaturally long until one day, Sakura and Sai come back looking as pallid as the towering sheets of papers that litters Kakashi’s office desk. One day, Sakura opens her mouth to give her report, only to drop her gaze instead, biting her lower lip, as tears begin to cascade down her cheeks.

It is Sai who eventually speaks. Quiet. Withdrawn. Distant.

He rattles on a detailed report of them encountering a foreign enemy that had threatened to wipe out the village. An enemy who had a special blood line limit. Naruto had engaged this enemy, had managed to break past the barriers of defense to take the enemy out but in doing so had caused damage to his surroundings, the power of the nine-tailed beast and the enemy spreading a blast radius of over a hundred kilometers, decimating forest and wild life and leaving nothing behind except a deep crater and no bodies to be found.

Kakashi’s world stops turning in that moment, as he realizes what had just left Sai’s mouth. As he realizes just why Sakura sinks to the ground on her knees, covering her face with her gloved hands and weeps with abandon.

He realizes that he’s done the one thing he’s never, ever wanted to do.

He sent his team, his precious team, to their death.

Kakashi knows he shouldn’t be surprised, as his lungs stops working in that moment, his hands frozen on the surface of his desk, as he stares at the remaining members of team seven, now forever broken with Naruto’s presence completely gone.

(But that’s impossible. It can’t be true. Naruto is stronger than that. And if there’s no body, perhaps he was just displaced during the blast, right? _Right?_ )

Kakashi sits there and realizes, not for the first time, that it should have been him that was gone. Not Naruto.

*

Kakashi refuses to believe it. At first.

He sends the Hunters out. He sends ANBU out. He sends Sakura, Sai and Shikamaru out at their request. He sends his pack out. He sends Tenzou and his team out.

He does everything. He exhausts every resource he is able to use.

Only to find no signs of Naruto.

There is absolutely no trace of him.

*

Kakashi is silent when he comes, his eyes rolling back as the whimper in his throat is suffocated to silence, his weight straddled on Tenzou’s lap. He finds himself floating in silence, in the sea of hushed whispers as Tenzou arranges him on the bed, fingers brushing over his temple.

“You need to be stronger than this,” Tenzou warns, soft and not at all unkind.

Kakashi wants to snap back that he knows. How he fucking _knows_.

Except he can't find the strength to do so anymore. It’s been months since Naruto has gone missing. Tomorrow would mark the eleven-month mark. In a month, if they don’t find any trace of him still, the state law would have to be enforced where Naruto would be declared officially dead. That is a law that Kakashi has been arguing with the council, wasting his breath over because if Naruto was truly dead, why is there no sign of the nine-tailed beast? Why has there been no reports of the beast wreaking havoc anywhere?

Kakashi’s arguments has been met with nothing but political excuses and in his opinion, invalid arguments. That even a hero like Naruto must never be above the law. If Naruto was above the law, even in death, then they would have start making excuses for every other shinobi who dies in the field. Why should Naruto be an only exception, even if he has, say, single handedly, saved them ultimate destruction? When Naruto, like every other shinobi, is but a citizen of Konoha? 

Kakashi cannot dismiss the argument but he can twist reality and make it sound like Naruto is on a long term mission instead of marking him officially as missing in action.

Kakashi has prolonged the inevitable for as much as he can.

Tomorrow, he’s going to have to send one last team to look for Naruto. And when that team returns empty handed, just like his summons, he would have to start making arrangements, and finally tell Iruka that Naruto is dead. Because Umino Iruka is the name Naruto had put down as his next of kin in his records. It is the only name in Naruto’s record.

Kakashi says nothing to Tenzou, merely turns his head away and closes his eyes.

He’s not looking forward to _that_ conversation.

*

The last team of Hunters Kakashi sends along with team seven, Shikamaru, Kiba and Hinata all return empty handed one fall evening. They hand in their reports directly to Kakashi before leaving the office with their shoulders tugged downwards, their expressions sombre.

Kakashi looks at the time then, knowing that Iruka is on duty at the mission desk. He sees no need to prolong the process.

It is with a heavy heart that he stamps his seal on the order for a funeral, the announcement tomorrow will become official amongst shinobi and a day later, to civilians. In a week, there will be a funeral, that Kakashi has no doubts will be full of people that Naruto has made an impact on, shinobi and civilians alike. Kakashi sends the request out, the runner’s eyes widening when he takes the order but otherwise mute before he exits the room.

The next thing Kakashi does is to summon for Iruka.

*

Iruka, who knocks on the Hokage’s door with dread in his chest, his heart jack hammering under his ribcage as he waits for the command to enter. Kakashi’s voice is clear, but also distant in its tenor and when Iruka steps into the office, when he takes one look at the almost apologetic, black rimmed gaze Kakashi directs at him, his stomach plummets to the core of the earth.

Kakashi tells him that Naruto has been missing in action for the past year. That he’s been searching for him for the past year. That Naruto isn’t in fact, on a long training journey, that it had been an excuse to evade panic and mayhem, or worse, falsified rumors. Iruka finds himself standing there, suspended in a vacuum, watching as Kakashi’s lips move behind the mask and under the shadow of his hat, watching as every part of him begin to shake, as he stands there mute and quite unable to breathe, or move, or say anything.

It takes a while for Iruka realize that Kakashi has stopped talking for a while.

That Kakashi is looking at him with something that Iruka thinks is regret, perhaps even an apology and perhaps something else that he can’t quite understand because Naruto is the strongest of them all. Naruto is the best of them all. And if he were truly dead, why has there been no reports of the nine-tails?

Iruka opens his mouth to say something and fails.

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi says, whisper soft, gentle, the words barely even audible enough to cross the space between them.

“I don’t believe you.” Iruka looks up, his vision blurring, denial rising hot to the surface, flushing the bridge of his nose. “I won’t.” He then bows low, all the way from the hip at the denial, his grief and shock falling like crystalline drops on to the polished wooden floors. “Forgive my insubordination, Hokage-sama, but I don’t believe you.”

“Funeral arrangements will be made,” Kakashi says, his voice as thick as gravel.

“It’s not real,” Iruka says, shaking his head, denying this, because no, how can they when there is no body? How can they even _think_ of doing this? “Kakashi-sama, it’s _not real_.”

“A date will be set by the end of this week,” Kakashi continues, the words barely above a whisper, when the weight of his apology behind it rings louder. “I wanted to tell you first, before the official announcement comes out tomorrow.”

Iruka can’t speak. He can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can't understand this. He doesn't understand why this is happening. To Naruto of all people when that boy deserves Tom love a good life, when he's fought so hard for peace, has sacrificed so much, has cared little for himself -- Naruto deserved to be here, to live his dream, finally, and not buried and be nothing more than a name etched into stone.

This isn't right. There has to be something wrong, because you can't be serious. You just can't give up on him like this! It's not real, it can't be, itcan'tbe, itcan'tbe, itcan'tbe--

Iruka straightens slowly from his bow, staring at Kakashi mutely as he asks to be excused, if that is all Kakashi had wanted to say to him, uncaring as Kakashi looks at him with pity or whatever the fuck, as whatever light that had been in his world, whatever that had been left after Tenzou took a step back out of his world, goes dark.

*

Kakashi avoids company after that, all the way to the day of the funeral.

He avoids Gai.

He avoids Tenzou.

(They understand; they don't ask questions. They don't hover. They don't suffocate him. They understand. They always do.)

He merely sits with himself in the office, distracting himself with paperwork he’s been putting off, keeping himself busy, busy, just busy, taking it one day at a time, one breath at a time. He is the Hokage after all. He had to be the strongest when everyone else around him is failing, when Sakura barely speaks and Sai, if anything, looks more detached that he’s ever been when he had been part of Root.

*

The funeral is a grand affair, with people gathered in the thousands in front of the Hokage tower, all dressed in black, holding bouquets of white lilies. Loose white petals drift in the cold, crisp winter wind, falling over the crystalline frost that the citizens had volunteered swept to the side to clear the path for the crowd. Everyone’s heads remain down in a show of respect, or perhaps they are just too afraid to look at what is about to be said, at this new reality that their hero, their savior, may just not be coming back after all. The silence dwells through out the village, pin drop, eerie, thick with grieving shock as they go through the motions of prayers to the deities and speeches that are made by the council.

Kakashi stands there, his face obscured by the rim of his hat, his hands tucked under the sleeves of his robes, shaking almost violently, despite him balling it into fists. He stands there feeling sick, nauseous, the smell of lilies turning his stomach, making his nose itch under the mask, gods, there are thousands of them, all around him. Kakashi keeps his gaze on the ground, hiding from the world the magnitude of his own grief, his own guilt at sending Naruto to his death, his own pallor probably as waxy as everyone else’s.

He keeps his gaze down still until it his turn to speak at the podium, flanked by Tenzou and his three other ANBU detail, all the way up to the podium where they stand on guard beside him, as he takes out the folded piece of paper from his pocket and spreads it out with clammy gloved hands before him.

The words before him are purple prose, beautiful, kind, inspiring, worthy of a hero like Naruto. Kakashi opens his mouth and begins reading, staring at his citizens as the guilt and shame and regret yawns wider than a ravine in his chest, as he manages to speak words as he looks at everyone single face in the crowd – Sakura, Sai, Gai, Shikamaru, Ino and Chouji, at Hinata who had been dating Naruto for the longest time, at Kiba and Shino, at Lee and Tenten and Konohamaru, at Iruka –

Kakashi stops speaking, as he ducks his gaze back at his speech before him.

The crowd remain silent, they too ducking their gazes, somber expressions lined with tears, some bringing up a sleeve to cover their eyes as they weep unapologetically. Kakashi blinks at the words before him, swallowing and telling himself that he’s almost done. That he’s close to the end and he just needs to wrap this goddamn speech up and it’ll be over.

Kakashi finds Gai in the crowd, looks at him like he’s searching for strength and gets it in the shape of a tilt of Gai’s chin, his lips pressed to a thin encouraging line.

Kakashi then turns his gaze just the slightest bit to his right, where Tenzou stands, where from this angle, Kakashi can meet Tenzou’s eyes clearly behind the porcelain mask. Kakashi can see past the two holes, at the man underneath for strength to get through this gods man speech.

Except Tenzou is looking straight ahead, his gaze looking past Kakashi at something in the crowd. Something that Kakashi follows and tracks, something that Kakashi realises is moving out and away somewhere in the front of the crowd, in hurried steps as Iruka weaves past the bodies dressed in black, looking nothing like he had two weeks ago, shoulders hunched, looking so incredibly small in his loose funeral blacks compared to when Kakashi had given him the news. Iruka who doesn’t look back, doesn’t linger, who disappears at the edge of the crowd and down the street. Tenzou whose clawed gloves are in tight fists, crimson dripping from them into small droplets in the ground as he holds perfectly still, nothing but a guarding sentinel. Tenzou who looks stiff, uncomfortable, when he hadn’t been earlier, not like this anyway.

 _It’s not real_ , Iruka had said.

I don’t believe you, Iruka had said.

(Kakashi hates this. Gods, how he fucking hates this.)

Kakashi opens his mouth once more, and somehow, manages to finish his speech even when he wants nothing more than to sink to his knees and scream.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Kakashi voice sucks. But I try. I'm not that confident of this chapter.  
> Also no, Naruto isn't dead. Don't worry. This is just bad shounen plot that is pervalent in the Naruto world.
> 
> Also, yes. Gai is gonna walk in my fucking world. I am sorry but if they can grow a freaking arm for Naruto, I don't see why they can't help Gai. It'll take longer, sure, because he doesn't have the 9-tails healing him, but I think Gai deserves good and amazing things as opposed to what Kishi did to him. So in this story, in my fanon, he is going to WALK and stand and be the amazing shinobi that we all know he is. If you hate it, well, honestly, screw you. Gai deserves better! Fight me if you want! HMPH!
> 
> Also, a big thanks to Rika for like listening to my garbage shit about YamaIru all the time and helping me come up with plot points. She makes sense of my goblin trash mouth! （╹◡╹）


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Please mind the tags. All tags pertaining to this story has been slapped on. It may not all unfold/be obvious at the beginning but it will. So if any of the tags make you uncomfortable, don't read. You've been warned.

The ringing in Iruka’s ears doesn’t ebb. It remains stubborn and loud, like a siren ringing within his head as he puts distance between himself and funeral that is all sorts of wrong. His feet move with purpose through empty, quiet and almost abandoned streets, where shops and merchants have closed for the day in respect for Naruto’s funeral. Every corner remains unoccupied, only occasionally disturbed by the presence of stray street cats fighting, or the quiet patter of a street dog’s paws crossing the street. Iruka dazedly comes to a halt however, at the sight of Ichiraku, where the noren curtain remains hanging, but the sliding aluminum panels remain shut beyond. Teuchi and Ayame had gone to the funeral, it seems.

And something about the sight of the humble ramen stand, the one place they both shared countless meals, something Iruka has lost count over the years since he acknowledged Naruto at the age of five, all that time ago when he had saved him from defected shinobi, all those years ago when Iruka had finally gotten over his own bias of the boy and saw what a genuine, kind, earnest child Naruto had been, when he saw so much of himself in Naruto, who simply wanted to be acknowledged, to know that his existence meant _something_ and not just a presence to be discarded, to be ignored – something about it looking so closed off, abandoned, and desolate shatters what little strength Iruka had left in him.

Nausea roils in Iruka’s stomach like a boat being tossed in a turbulent sea, as his hands shake under the sleeves of his funeral robes, as he _tears_ his gaze away from that stand, at the memory of Naruto’s smile that had always, _always_ been as wide as the sky. He tears himself away from the presence of that ramen stand, his feet quickening from its previous brisk stride to an out right run, crossing two districts until he reaches the doorway to his apartment.

The keys jangle noisily, shakily, as he struggles and curses under his breath at the door until he wrenches it open, slamming it shut with a bang that echoes almost through out the entire village as he leans against the grain of the wood, staring at his apartment ceiling as he tries to catch his breath.

His breath that he doesn’t quite catch because denial gives way to the current reality at hand.

Naruto is head.

In less than hour, his empty coffin would be buried.

(But it can’t be real. It’s not real. It’s not real!)

Iruka slides down the door, his weight dropping to the cold tiled space of the genkan, forehead thumping forward on his knees as he shakes to keep his grief in check, because grieving, weeping for Naruto would mean that his death is final. It would mean giving up on him when Iruka knows that he shouldn’t lose faith. It is unrealistic that Naruto is dead when there truly has been no news, not even a whisper of a rumor of a nine-tailed beast running rampant somewhere, somehow. Grieving now would put certainty that the bodiless coffin that will be buried under thousands of white lilies is Naruto, that in the end, the best of them is reduced to nothing more than an empty casket.

Mourning for Naruto would mean accepting the fact that he and Naruto will never again be together in this life, when all Iruka had wanted was to support the boy in any way he could. Whether it was through lunches, dinners, nights where Iruka ushered him home and tucked him into bed, where he still keeps a spare futon to this day in case Naruto had wanted to sleep over, or craves a home cooked meals. Where birthdays had meant vanilla cream cake topped with strawberries, Naruto’s favorite, shared between them within the comfortable and private confines of Iruka’s apartment, or Naruto’s apartment, every damn year, while the rest of the village mourned for the death of their loved ones, because Naruto’s birthday isn’t exactly a date worth celebrating. It is a day of loss and bereavement, the day where thousands lost family and friends to the nine-tailed beasts. Supporting Naruto meant spring picnics, trips to the beach in the summer and when Iruka had been able to scrape together enough to afford it, a weekend trip to the onsen in Konoha’s hills. Sometimes, it’s just a movie at the theater. Sometimes, it’s just training outside of the Academy hours, where Iruka had tried to urge Naruto to catch up, to get through his basics, drilling into his head even when Iruka knew it was moot because Naruto’s chakra had been unstable to begin with, disturbed by the presence of the nine-tailed beast.

Thinking about all this, remembering the laughter, the lectures, the way Naruto had not left his side after Mizuki, the way he had mumbled, _someone has to take care of you, you don’t have anyone else either,_ small, and too wise for his age, ducking under the fall of Iruka’s forehead protector that had been a little too big for him at the time,. Iruka will never forget the look that had crossed Naruto’s face that time, the still lingering uncertainty when Iruka had tried to push him away, to focus more on his genin team at the time, to train and study and practice his chakra control, when all Naruto wanted to do was remain by his side, trying to be a nurse maid to the best of his small hands’ ability.

Mourning Naruto is something Iruka has been trying so, so hard to not do the past two weeks, ever since Kakashi delivered the news, ever since Kakashi had said, despite the ringing that had been in Iruka’s ears at the time, that he, Umino Iruka is who Naruto had listed as his next of kin. Iruka had heard everything Kakashi had said, even when it had felt like Kakashi was speaking from a great, far distance, his words muted behind the ringing in Iruka’s ears that had only gotten progressively louder from that moment onwards.

Iruka doesn’t want to give up hope.

Doesn’t want to _dare_.

Because I know Naruto. I know he can surpass the impossible. There has to be some mistake. There has to be.

But in the small space of his apartment, as the distant bells ring somewhere in front of the gathering square in front of the Hokage tower, Iruka grits his teeth, the tears bursting past his eyes that he tries to push back by pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, as Naruto’s absence, in all of Iruka’s crashing weakness, somehow starts to become real, where the loss outweighs hope in Iruka’s heart, a dark cloud further obscuring the sun of Iruka’s skies.

They say love – love of family, that is – is a divine gift.

Iruka thinks then sorrow must be a divine gift too, for in its enormity is the proof of how things used to be.

*

Outside, the restless grey winter skies rumbled, turning day to almost night. Thick blackened clouds flash a brief purple as Iruka remains seated on the rug, his head throbbing with a migraine that is the result of his grief and shedding far too many regretful tears. The sky gets dragged down by the heavy rain, as if the heavens had struggled and given up to withstand the burden of Naruto’s death. The rain had given in, it seems, as it pours down over the village with a roar, the sound of emptiness only disrupted by the loud affable clap of thunder, bringing with it a certain chill that seeps through the window cracks, post the cemented and painted concrete, and through the gaps of the floor boards.

Iruka’s space heater does little to keep him warm, his hands and toes numb as he shakily pours himself a full glass of whiskey, reckless in his dose. He drinks it like it’s a summer drink, chugging it down like he’s thirsty, or perhaps the way a desperate patient would with medicine. Iruka isn’t even sure anymore, except the burn that slides down his throat is welcoming amidst the numbness.

Death isn’t kind, Iruka knows that. It snatches where it can, taking people far too young, far too good.

Death didn’t give a shit.

Iruka always knew that being shinobi meant that death hung like a vale over one’s body, always looming, always threatening. He knows this each time he grades his students with a high mark, a tallying record that signifies them taking another step closer to death. He knows that even someone like Naruto, despite all his strength, his faith in people, the power he housed in his body, is no exception to death. That one day, death too would snatch him away, leaving him lying there staring at the sky, face sunken, haunted, his wonderful ever-loving heart and mind cold, and empty.

Iruka knows all this.

He’s been to far too many funerals. Far too many of his students don’t make it past genin or chuunin. Some make it to jounin too early, only to come back in a body bag if not severed parts.

Iruka has held far too many bouquets of white lilies to last him a life time; he was never ready for any of those. One would think that you’d go numb the more you attend these funerals, the more you say goodbye to your precious students who are a lot younger than you, were meant to be a lot stronger than you. You’d think you’d get used to it.

Iruka snorts to himself self deprecatingly, as a flash of thunder throws his dim apartment into a brief flash of whitened purple. The rumble that follows is punctuated with Iruka slamming his glass down too sharply on the table, as he swallows the burn and closes his eyes.

Naruto deserved better. Better than anything anyone could have given him.

(He deserved more from me. I should have done more. I should have tried to adopt him the moment I thought about it when he had been six. I should have given him more, spent more time, I should have – I should have--)

The sky flashes again, followed by a clap of lightning and a louder rumble, almost deafening in its roar, making Iruka’s ears ring with the heaven’s anger. It takes a moment for him to realize that the distant thump he can hear is coming from his door.

Somebody is outside. Knocking.

Iruka stares at his door, unsure of who would come at this time of day. He knows it wouldn’t be his friends. Izumo and Kotetsu aren’t able to make it to the funeral because they are on gate guarding duty that day, along with several other jounins and chuunins. Iruka looks at the time. The funeral would have ended by now.

Puzzled and a little bit buzzed, Iruka approaches his door and pulls it open, just as the skies flashes white and purple again, the power lines disturbed by the ferocity of the rain outside, as the overhead light of the genkan flickers, throwing Iruka into momentary darkness and shadow only to illuminate and give light to Kakashi standing there before him, rain water dripping off his hat and robes into a small puddle under his feet.

Iruka stands there, mute, looking up at his village’s leader, partially stunned, partially confused, not sure what the Hokage is doing here when surely, Kakashi had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Hokage-sama…” Iruka murmurs, surprise sobering him as he pulls open his door wider, mannerisms and etiquette kicking in. “Would you like to come in? You’re drenched.”

“If it’s not trouble,” Kakashi softly answers, his voice but a distant whisper, his gloved hand reaching up to tug the Hokage hat off his head.

“Not at all. Please come in,” Iruka says, side stepping and holding the door wider to his modest genkan and slightly cluttered apartment. “You’ll have to forgive me, Hokage-sama, I wasn’t expecting company tonight.”

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness,” Kakashi murmurs, as he toes his boots off and sets his hat on the corner by the genkan, sliding off his robes to hang it by the hook on the door. “Pardon the intrusion.”

Iruka says nothing more, offering the sofa to Kakashi. Kakashi takes a tentative seat, his funeral robes rumpling with the gesture, his gray eye taking stock of the half empty bottle on the table. “Would you like some tea, Hokage-sama? Or would you like a glass?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer immediately, but his head dips just the slightest bit, as he regards the bottle on the table. “A glass, if you don’t mind…”

Iruka takes his time to cross the small space to his kitchen, going with the motions of opening the cabinet, taking out a spare glass, using the slow momentum to figure out just why is the Hokage paying him a visit. What news could he possibly have that would be more devastating that the one he had already delivered two weeks ago? It’s not like Iruka had much left in his life beside his teaching post at this point. It’s not like he’s worth being scrutinized over. He’s a practical nobody in the grand scheme of things.

Iruka kneels back down on the floor, across from Kakashi, putting distance between them. He pours Kakashi two fingers of whiskey, politely placing the glass within Kakashi’s reach. He pours himself a little more than two fingers, before settling down in proper seiza, regarding Kakashi awkwardly in question.

“Forigve me, Hokage-sama, but I’m not sure why you’re here. I am caught off guard by your presence,” Iruka admits, dipping his chin forward in apology for his straight forward line of inquiry.

“You left the funeral,” Kakashi says after a lengthy pause, reaching forward to pick up his glass, lowering his mask in the process. “I wanted to check in on how you’re doing.”

Iruka keeps his gaze down, staring at the grain of the wood of his center table. He notices the cracks, how deep they actually go, how the paint job has started to fade just a little bit. It’s a new table too, he notes with dismay. He had to invest in new things after the war, the moment he had found an apartment that he can stay in, afford and maintain. After all, he had lost everything too, just like everyone else. “I’m doing well, Hokage-sama, thank you for asking and checking up on me. You didn’t have to go through the trouble…”

I’m sure you have more important things to do, Iruka doesn’t say. I should be the least of your concern, Iruka doesn’t say.

Kakashi is quiet for the longest time. “Naruto saw you as his next of kin. Why wouldn’t I be worried about you?”

The question makes Iruka go still, his fingers tightening around his glass. He isn’t sure what to say that. He isn’t even sure how to even acknowledge his leader’s words with a polite, generic response. He had no ties to Kakashi save for professional rank. He may have shared a meal with the man a few times with Naruto present, he may have conversed politely with him over Naruto, Iruka had gone on that disastrous mission with Kakashi as team leader all those years ago before he had decided to become a teacher, there was that one time where Kakashi loaned his summon to Iruka, Kakashi may have consulted with him a few times to assist with matters of the office but other than that, Iruka can’t say he knows him personally.

“I’d like to think that Naruto wouldn’t forgive me if I allowed something to happen to you,” Kakashi whispers, tossing the remains of his glass back in one go. “So humor me, Iruka.”

“I am safe within the village walls, Hokage-sama. Nothing is going to happen to me. What harm could possibly come my way, unless there is an imminent threat of war?” Iruka asks, smiling a little wryly. “Put your mind at ease. I’m sure you have more pressing matters to worry about over Naruto’s old teacher.”

“Next of kin,” Kakashi corrects, his tone just a sliver sharper. “Naruto’s next of kin, Iruka.”

Iruka slams his glass down a little sharply, his grief swelling into something hot and ugly in his chest. “Point taken. Unnecessary, but taken.”

Above them, the light flickers again before dying out, the power going out completely as a rumble of lightining echoes in the distance. The steady hum of the space heater goes mute, as Iruka and Kakashi gets thrown into pitchblack darkness. Neither of them moves for a moment, suspended in a air of loss, the side of loving that nobody every warns you of. That should you lose someone precious to you, someone you so dearly, truly love, your heart gets buried with them too. Once the earth hits the wood, your soul gets buried too. There is no coming back from loss, for the world then turns to something that is made of shadows where every breath feels icy hollow in the chest.

Iruka thinks of that empty casket once more, at the photo they had picked of Naruto, where he had been grinning ear to ear, looking so strong, and handsome and gods, he had been too young, so fucking young –

Iruka’s hands balls into fists on the table, his vision blurring with salt as he thinks of the last thing Naruto had told him before he left for his mission. That they are to catch up over dinner, that Iruka should treat him to not one, not two but three bowls of ramen after all he’s been through passing the jounin exams. Iruka remembers wrapping his arm around Naruto’s neck, holding him in a headlock and giving him a scolding about taking too long to pass the jounin exam in the first place. How they had bickered about the importance of knowledge and theory, all in good humor before Naruto negotiated dinner to four bowls instead of three.

The memory of Naruto’s last laugh, how he had guffawed at Iruka’s squawk, how he had smiled uncaringly, as if death hadn’t been looming so close to him in that moment, makes Iruka bring a hand up to his mouth, clamping it shut as he hunches forward and ducks his head in shame, embarrassed that the Hokage would see him like this, see him coming apart when he’s been coming apart for the past two weeks, when he’s done nothing but throw himself into longer shifts, has spent sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, praying to anyone who’d listen that Naruto returns, that none of this is real. When he lay on the empty bed that has remained empty for years since Tenzou’s departure, feebly hoping that the council would overrule the state law and let Naruto simply be. Not dead, not missing in action, but just _be_.

When he’s never felt more alone now that his only next of kin lies buried in an empty casket in the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi says, the words whisper soft, just as the light overhead flickers back on, the electricity flowing once more. “I should have never sent him on that assignment."

Iruka scrunches his eyes shut, shaking his head, a sound ripping past his throat, soft, weak, pathetic, ashamed. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry too, Hokage-sama. Forgive me. I’m not the best company right now. Please forgive my unkind request, but if there is nothing else you need from me, I would like to be left alone, please…”

Iruka’s hand shake, as warm gloved hands reach out, steadying them. That shock of warm leather makes Iruka’s breath hitch, makes him look up at Kakashi who looks wretched and sorry, who looks terrible under the mask, black lines rimmed around his eyes, his expression waxy like the hundreds of faces earlier in the funeral.

“You shouldn’t be alone. Not at a time like this. Is there anybody I can call to stay with you?” Kakashi asks, gentle, kind, his fingers tightening around Iruka’s hand.

“No Hokage-sama,” Iruka says, his voice shaking at every syllable, feeling even more worthless as the truth stumbles past his lips. “There is nobody...”

*

Kakashi comes home to find Tenzou seated in front of the television, staring unfocused at the screen.

“I thought you’d be back before me,” Tenzou says, turning his attention up at Kakashi when Kakashi approaches him to brush cool fingers against a cheek. “You weren’t at the office when I checked.”

“I went to see Iruka,” Kakashi says, his caress gliding to a stop when Tenzou tenses under his fingers.

“I see,” Tenzou responds, his voice neutral.

But the lines of tension that suddenly pulls his entire body taut for just a brief second makes Kakashi pause, how it seems to go all the way down Tenzou’s spine. Kakashi finds his gaze tracking to Tenzou’s hands, where earlier in the day, he had balled them to fists, the claws of his ANBU gloves cutting into flesh hard enough for blood to pool and soak through the frost covered ground. Kakashi had assumed it had been the ceremony, the reality that they’re doing this because of Naruto’s passing.

Something about that conclusion sits poorly with Kakashi.

He knows Tenzou. He knows no other man more deeply rooted into the wretched life of being shinobi that Tenzou. He can think of no one else who is able to sleep through the screems, the massacre, the genocide of innocents than Tenzou. He knows because Tenzou carries nothing in his chest that can truly break. That if anything, Tenzou is the most stable shinobi Kakashi knows. That nothing affects Tenzou, nothing gets to Tenzou. It shouldn’t surprise him that his response is neutral.

Tenzou’s jaw flexes, a subtle movement, as he stares at the television screen going into a cheery commercial fruit juice jingle, the sound of the melody almost mocking given the somber mood.

“He’s not handling this well,” Kakashi says, watching the line of Tenzou’s jaw. “I didn’t think he should be alone, but…”

The line of Tenzou’s jaw flexes, a movement that lasts for no longer than a heartbeat. A movement that would have gone unnoticed if Kakashi wasn’t looking at all in the first place.

“I’m not surprised,” Tenzou answers, blinking at the television screen. “He loved Naruto like no one else in the village. Did you know he thought about legally adopting him?”

“He did?” Kakashi sounds surprised, when he shouldn’t be.

Tenzou hums, a noncommittal sound that betrays nothing more than the information he has given voice to. On his lap, Tenzou’s hands remain deceptively lax, ever the perfect soldier, betraying nothing.

*

“It’s not your fault,” Gai says, when Kakashi sits next to him the next day, looking out at the puddles left behind by the downpour. “I know you think its yours, that you sending Naruto on that mission was a wrong decision, but you couldn’t have known. Nobody could have known. Isn’t that the risk we shinobi take every, when we step out of the gates?”

“Doesn’t make it any easier, Gai,” Kakashi murmurs, staring at his gloved hands.

“I know,” Gai says, reaching up to press a warm hand on Kakashi’s back. “But right now, you have to be stronger than everyone else.”

“He was supposed to be the Hokage, Gai…” Kakashi says, something pinching at the back of his throat, flooding his sinuses with a pressure so great that Kakashi has to duck and scrunch his eyes shut, as the ravine in his chest yawns open just a little bit wider, a reminder of yet someone precious to him getting buried in the ground.

“I know,” Gai murmurs, leaning over and pressing lips to Kakashi’s temples, tugging Kakashi closer, tucking his head under Gai’s chin, warm fingers carding through thick, coarse silver hair. “I know…”

*

It doesn’t get easier. Mourning Naruto, that is.

Sometimes, Kakashi wishes he’d just walk back in through Konoha’s gates.

Sometimes, as he straddles Gai’s lap and comes with a ferocity that leaves him blinded, that makes the heat spill out his eyes, that makes Gai’s arms tighten around him to a bruising point, Kakashi wishes that it had been him who died, not Naruto.

Naruto deserved better.

*

The world doesn’t stop turning.

Not even after funeral becomes a memory, vivid but distant, the frost melting and bringing with it the first vision of green.

*

The funeral becomes a memory, vivid but distant, as the world continues turn, the frost melting and bringing with it the first vision of green.

Kakashi comes home one day to find Tenzou finally unpacking the boxes that had laid forgotten and untouched since Tenzou moved into the manor. Tenzou believed in spring cleaning, something new Kakashi has discovered because he didn’t realize Tenzou found the motions of decluttering relaxing. He shucks his robes and hat off along side his vest, joining Tenzou in the kitchen where he’s got a garbage bag open on the floor, as he goes through the box of what looks like beyond salvageable books, torn and burnt in most places and a few trinkets like a letter opener, a copper paper weight that Kakashi remembers receiving from Sakura years ago when they had been genin and what looks like a soup ladle.

Kakashi keeps the paperweight, while the rest of the books, magazines with special drama editions or inside scoop about the upcoming Icha Icha Paradise movie ends up in the trash bag. Kakashi had his own box to sort, finding all kinds of things like magnets, a small tool box and a few architecture reference books that somehow survived. Tenzou huffs a sound of amusement at one of the titles Kakashi holds up, lips quirking up to a bit of a lopsided grin.

“There’s not a copy of that anywhere, now,” Tenzou says. “I’m glad it survived.”

“Lucky,” Kakashi says, dusting the cover with his hands shaking out some of the ash and soot back into the box.

He sets it aside and empties out what looks like the contents of someone’s kitchen junk drawer. Rusty knives, an old bottle owner with the handle broken, a packet of nails; Kakashi fist wraps around a small velvet box, covered in dust that he blows off and pats a few times, popping it open to find the gleam of a polished, silver colored ring looking up at him. Kakashi knows the ring isn’t his. He would know if he had purchased such a thing, or if such a thing were given to him by someone.

Which would leave it to mean only one thing.

Kakashi looks up at Tenzou, who suddenly isn’t moving anymore, his dark gaze unreadable, hooded, walled off, irises focused on the gleam of silver under the halogen light of the kitchen.

“It’s a little small, ne, kouhai?” Kakashi teases, hoping it’d get a scoff or a smirk or something out of Tenzou. Kakashi gets nothing. He doesn’t know what to make of the weight in his palm, this small thin band of silver that promises forever. He doesn’t know what it could all mean. “I didn’t know you were that serious enough to think about commitment.”

Tenzou’s gaze comes up to meet Kakashi’s, something dull and distant, like rusty gleam of an old blade rising to the surface. He reaches forward and takes the ring in his hand, the velvet case shutting with a loud clack of finality. It doesn’t linger in Tenzou’s grasp, for he tosses it into the garbage bag like it’s worth nothing more than the unwanted trash within.

“I was,” Tenzou admits. “I had forgotten about it. I guess you can say I couldn’t make myself throw it away back then.”

Kakashi watches as Tenzou picks up a few loose pens and sketch pencils from the bottom of the box he had been sorting through, tossing it all in to the garbage bag before he turns and picks up the last box from the ground, opening the flaps and sifting through a few salvageable volumes of Kakashi’s old Icha Icha collection.

Tenzou’s back is lined with tension, lips parted as he concentrates on shuffling through some of the pages of Icha Icha tactics, tapping the book to free it from soot and gravel. Tenzou, who remains drawn in, unable to quite look at Kakashi, perhaps even avoiding him, perhaps ashamed – Kakashi can’t tell.

But what he does know is this:

Tenzou would never commit easily. Not to just about anyone.

It dawns on Kakashi that tossing the ring away, discarding it like it had meant nothing is a lie. That the way Tenzou had behaved during the funeral, the way he didn’t care that his fists bled through the tension his body couldn’t quite contain anymore, the way that tension continue to tug at the rest of Tenzou’s body at the news that someone he had once wanted to commit too isn’t handling Naruto’s death very well – Kakashi turns to look at the garbage bag. It didn’t seem right. Throwing away something like that. Something important.

“Why didn’t you?” Kakashi asks, softly.

“We wanted different things.” Tenzou tosses a burnt book into the bag.

“And you couldn’t compromise?” Kakashi gently coaxes, kind, wondering what could possibly that statement – something he’s heard before – even mean, anymore. Was Iruka that much of an unreasonable man? A demanding man, even? Was it the ANBU lifestyle? Not everyone is equipped to handle that sort of thing. Kakashi wouldn’t be surprised if Iruka decides that he couldn’t either. With someone like Tenzou, it’d be hard if one didn’t understand.

“No,” Tenzou says, even, calm. “Not this time.” Tenzou looks up at then, holding Kakashi’s gaze. “It wasn’t his fault, senpai. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Kakashi cannot stop the frown from tugging at his face, and can only hum a small sound as he drops his gaze back to the box, continuing to unpack.

*

Kakashi fishes the ring out much much later, unsure why something in his gut tells him that it's so wrong, throwing it away like that. 

Maybe it's the way Tenzou responded.

Maybe it's the way the words, _we wanted different things_ sounds like a lie.

If Iruka wanted different things, if he perhaps didn't have love for Tenzou at all, or perhaps not of the same depth as Tenzou's, then why did Iruka have nobody? 

It's wrong.

It's just wrong.

*

Spring comes with an unexpected resignation letter that falls upon Kakashi’s desk. The current headmaster of the Academy decides that they want to retire, leaving the position open and a circular for an expression of interest to be put forward by eligible candidates. It’s another thing Kakashi has to deal with, more paperwork, more judging, more analyzing, more everything. It's tedious.

He is surprised that the first person to submit an expression of interest had been no other than Umino Iruka.

Iruka who doesn’t meet the qualification on one point and that is completing an inter-village six month training cross posting to Sand. The last time a cross posting was completed had been two decades ago, when Konoha’s had strong ties and were allied well with Mist. The now retiring headmaster had done her cross posting then, during the tenure of the Sandaime, just short of the Yondaime’s ascension. 

“What do you think?” Kakashi calls to his right.

Tenzou steps out of the shadows, materializing as Cat by Kakashi’s arm. There is a pause as Tenzou reads the cover letter on file, Iruka’s words expressing interest for the position of headmaster. “Other than the cross-training required, I don’t think there’s anyone more suitable for the role.”

“I thought so too…” Kakashi murmurs softly, staring at Iruka’s photo attached to the folder, where a small smile seems to be lingering around the corners of his lips, where he had looked whole, well, vibrant, and nothing like the man Kakashi had seen weeks ago, who had poured him two fingers of whiskey, as he tried to contain his grief.

*

Kakashi likes to think he’s made a decision with little to no bias, when he summons for Iruka one afternoon to congratulate him for his new role as the Academy’s headmaster. Iruka looks at him with surprise, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, as he drops his gaze to the floor and keeps his back straight.

“Thank you for the honor, Hokage-sama,” Iruka says, bowing politely, every bit the properly mannered man that he is.

“No, thank you, Iruka-sensei, for expressing your interest,” Kakashi counters, shaking his head. “I can’t think of anyone more suitable if not more deserving of the role. These are your travel documents and your briefing for your six month posting in Sand.” Kakashi extends a scroll towards Iruka, the Hokage seal clear and a vibrant red.

Iruka accepts it with hands, staring at it perhaps just a little disbelievingly, like he didn’t think he’d ever get the position. Something about that expression, how genuine it is, how it softens the hard gaunt lines of Iruka’s grieving face makes Kakashi’s lips soften to a bit of a wry smile under his mask.

“You leave in a week’s time. Kankuro will be your point of contact and liaison when you are in Sand. Also, Iruka, I do not want you to hesitate in contacting me should you feel you need to. For anything.”

After all, Kakashi can’t think of how he could live with himself, if something ever happens to Iruka. Not after Naruto. Especially not after Naruto.

“You are too kind, Hokage-sama, looking after my well being,” Iruka murmurs, swallowing. “I am grateful. For the opportunity.”

“I’ll see you off on your journey,” Kakashi says, huffing a bit bemusedly when Iruka looks at him with surprise again, like he's grown two heads. “I’m sending one of Konoha’s best and precious teachers away. It’s the least I could do. Humor me, Iruka-sensei~”

Iruka dips his head in a bow, the flush dusting all the way to the tips of his ears. “Yes, Hokage-sama…”

*

Tenzou is in the shadows when Kakashi meets Iruka at the Western gate. Tenzou is there to bear witness to just how much weight Iruka had lost since news of Naruto’s death has become official. He is there, riddled powerless to do nothing but stand like the ever guarding sentinel as the Hokage’s guard, as Kakashi claps a hand on Iruka’s shoulder, wishing him a safe journey ahead.

Iruka who simply ducks and rubs the edge of his scar, embarrassed, possibly wondering why someone like him would be deserving of all this attention. Iruka who has lost color on his cheeks, his cheekbones more prominent, the curve of his neck longer, his shoulders narrower, leaner. Iruka who gives Kakashi a bit of a sheepish smile, a bit of pink splashing some color on his waxy pallor, as he bows politely and tells Kakashi that he’ll be on his way.

Iruka who turns and walks away, only pausing briefly to look in the general direction of where Tenzou is perched on the tree, hidden out of sight, his chakra compressed. It’s nothing more than a coincidence, that lingering gaze, because Iruka’s eyes sweep over the tree tops, at the skies above Konoha before he turns his eyes away, like he can’t bear to look at it anymore, like it’s suddenly all too much.

(It must be. Gods, it must be, especially now with Naruto gone.)

And all Tenzou could do is watch Iruka’s back disappear down the path, his travel cloak blowing gently in the wind, as the cavern in his chest that he had been so desperately trying to forget, trying to cover, trying to pretend didn’t exist yawn wider with each step Iruka takes away from Tenzou, when all Tenzou wants to say is, to shout out, is wait, please wait...  
  


TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you Naruto is fine. I swear. Next chapter, I swear.  
> LELS


	5. v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Please mind the tags. All tags pertaining to this story has been slapped on. It may not all unfold/be obvious at the beginning but it will. So if any of the tags make you uncomfortable, don't read. You've been warned.

The sight of that ring opens the floodgates to a thousand things Tenzou had thought he had buried, that he had thought he had managed to cut out of himself.

He knows he is dreaming, lying there on the old worn couch of Iruka’s living room, the book he had been reading propped open on his chest, forgotten as he chooses to watch Iruka grade through his youngest class’ worksheets from that day. He watches Iruka’s eyebrows knit in concentration, as he jots down comments on the margins, put small tick marks on the correct answers and circle those that are wrong. He writes down the correct answers, in neat block strokes of his red pen, sometimes pausing as he huffs in amusement at an explanation his student gives in the essay section, sometimes grinning and drawing a happy face beside the answer. Sometimes it’s a put upon response, followed by a soft sigh that Tenzou knows must come from a student that no doubt, Iruka has explained whatever points he’s disappointed about on paper, over and over again. Iruka would write on the margins, see me after class, or jot down a page number from their text book to refer back to.

Like this, Tenzou thinks Iruka is beautiful, as he pauses in his grading, setting his pen down, as he picks up his tea cup to take a sip of his cinnamon tea, something Iruka loves to indulge during the lazy weekends afternoons. Iruka’s had a kind of understated beauty, only because Iruka is completely unaware of just how gorgeous he really is. His skin shone gold under the sunlight, almost so flawless one would think he wasn’t shinobi, but a deity. Iruka is all about simplicity, making things easy, like the way he knots his hair up in a lazy bun when he’s at home. His simplicity extends beyond his person, because Iruka is also the kind of man who would want everyone around him to be relaxed, content, comfortable, even, something kind and gentle always upon his eyes, or at the tip of his touch, even if he is scowling or yelling across the field at his run away students. Tenzou wonders if perhaps it is this empathic kindness that makes him flow, that it is Iruka’s inner beauty, more so than his physical beauty, that lit up his eyes and softened his features. When Iruka smiles and laughs, one cannot help but be infected by it. You end up smiling too, if not chuckling along, even if it is only from the inside, while the rest of your face remains neutral. To be in Iruka’s company, however silent, like this moment, is to feel that you are truly with someone, that you aren’t alone, that you aren’t stuck in the dark or choked by shadows, that if anything, you are warmed in summer rays, regardless of the season.

Iruka turns to look at him, a questioning look crossing his features before it softens to something of amusement. Iruka reaches out with his fingers then, gently tracing the line of Tenzou’s jaw, his lips tugging up to a small smile, teeth peeking out from under his lips, as he asks, “Missed me, didn’t you?”

Tenzou had been away on a mission for four weeks. Tenzou isn’t sure when spending even a day away from Iruka had began to feel like forever.

Yes, Tenzou remembers admitting, as something warm curls in his chest, soft and gentle, filling the rest of him with something that might have been love, or maybe something else, something that swoops downwards sharply, like a plummeting rock being yanked down by gravity, groundnig him to the plane of reality with a jerk.

Tenzou wakes up like that, the ghost of Iruka’s fingers on his jaw, the smell of musk, pine and open fields flooding his senses, replacing that cozy reality in Iruka’s modest apartment, washing away the scent of cinnamon and feel of the warm sun upon Tenzou’s skin.

Tenzou sits up from bed, untangling himself from Kakashi, standing up and leaving the bedroom all together, his feet carrying him down the hall towards the living room, into the kitchen where he turns the tap on and drowns two glasses of water, in hopes to clear the tightness in his throat that stubbornly refuses to ebb.

The truth is that he can live without Iruka. The truth is that he can even become a great success without Iruka in his life. But I miss finding happiness in the simple things, like cutting vegetables beside you, or drying the dishes beside you. I miss your caress, the timbre of your voice and your warmth that keeps me strong even during the days where I am the furthest away from you. I miss the strength of your embrace, your hands in my hair, my name on your lips when you whisper it in my ear. I miss you. I have never stopped missing you.

Tenzou sets the glass down sharply on the counter, his fingers trembling.

He dresses and leaves the Hokage manor, heading straight for the training grounds where he hopes that he can clear his mind, remind himself of where his commitment, his loyalty and his trust truly lies.

*

He should have thrown that ring.

He should have buried it in the trash the day Iruka had packed his belongings.

Tenzou upheaves half of the forest in an explosion of chakra, burying everything down, down, down, like how he wishes he could bury what he had felt for Iruka all those years ago. Like how he wishes he could bury the memory of how Iruka’s lips had tasted like, the soft brush of his fingers, the kindness in his eyes and the way he had looked at Tenzou, truly happy, like Tenzou is the center of his world.

The earth shakes with the flow of Tenzou’s devastating chakra, sinking into a ravine that he then lifts and smooths over with planes of grass and towering trees of oranges.

Oranges.

Iruka’s favorite fruit to have with his tea.

Tenzou sinks to the ground on his knees, breathing hard as he looks around him, surrounded by hues of browns, greens and little white orange blossoms that come summer would turn to round, ripe juicy oranges. Iruka wouldn’t be here for the summer though. He’d be in the scorching desert heat of Suna, where the weather would be dry during the day and impossibly humid at night, where the burn of the sun is almost painful, like the prickling of a thousand needles upon one’s skin. Iruka wouldn’t get to enjoy Konoha’s seasonal oranges this year, not his favorite mango ice cream or even the frozen pineapples and lychee shake he likes to purchase from a small street cart vendor that parks itself in Tea Avenue, right outside the Academy. Tenzou has lost count how many times he’s tasted the sweetness of pineapples upon Iruka’s lips, how many times he’s walked with Iruka by his side, as he sipped through a plastic glass of creamy, rich lychee sake under the summer heat.

Tenzou’s head touches the ground, as he thumps it there a few times, just as the sun begins to rise over the horizon.

I miss you, he wants to say.

But it isn’t his place anymore to voice something like that.

*

There had been a time, a little after they had gone their separate ways, where everything around Tenzou had reminded him of Iruka. Walking down the street would remind him of Iruka. The market, Tea Avenue, the bustling chuunins in their standard issue uniform – Tenzou has lost count how many of them had left him in a distracted daze.

It hadn’t been easy, moving past Iruka’s memories, avoiding him, pretending not to see him, keeping his gaze firmly ahead of him whenever he had been out in the streets of Konoha, not daring to distract himself with the sight of Iruka’s favorite tea house, or his favorite market stall, his favorite supermarket because they had the best value mark downs for rice, sugar and instant ramen, his favorite coffeeshop, his favorite bakery.

It hadn’t been easy, not seeing Iruka all around him.

The only time he didn’t see Iruka at all was when Kakashi had been in Tenzou’s orbit, when the smell of musky pine and open fields would push back the ghost of Iruka’s memory, and the torrid heat of Kakashi’s mouth and the hard grip of his callous fingers would push away touches Tenzou had more often than not, yearned for.

But now, as he stands there, perfectly well within Kakashi’s orbit, where the smell of musky pine and open fields fills his lungs with each inhale Tenzou takes, Iruka’s has started to appear.

Small, frail, alone, grieving, looking at Tenzou through the mirrors and glass that Tenzou would walk by, following him like the dead, reaching out for him even when Tenzou turns his gaze away, scrunches his eyes shut and says Kakashi’s name, three weeks later, after trying to break free from the memory of Iruka turning away from Konoha, at the sobre, heart breaking sight Iruka made all those days ago at the funeral, his shoulders tense, his entire body tense, everything tense.

(When all you wanted to do was wrap your arms around him, tell him that you’ve got him, that he’s not alone, that it’s okay, that you’re here, even when Naruto’s casket lies six feet under. You are grateful that he never saw you. Because you know you’d be stripped of power, of control, if your named ever tumbled past Iruka’s lips. You know wouldn’t be able to walk away, not from that, not from Iruka, not a second time. You know you’d be breaking your commitment, your loyalty to Kakashi and Kakashi’s trust. You know. You fucking know.)

And Kakashi understands.

He understands Tenzou’s need to not be in control, too. That something lies disturbed under Tenzou’s skin, something that Tenzou tries to hold too close to the chest, tucked under an air of neutrality. Something changes Tenzou ever since the day Kakashi had found that ring, something that leaves him far too guarded, no longer as open, something that leaves Tenzou unable to quite meet Kakashi’s eyes. Not immediately anyway. Tenzou would need a second or two before he would look up and hold Kakashi’s gaze, as if those two seconds is window to quickly bury whatever it is he’s trying to bury under the earth.

Kakashi understands when he pins Tenzou against the wall, divesting him off his clothing, Tenzou’s body jering under his fingers as Kakashi kisses him hard, his hands fisting in short, silky ash brown cropped hair. He understands when he pushes Tenzou’s down on his knees, holding his head prisoner between the wall and his cock, how Tenzou swallows a hiss when Kakashi gives his head a firm, single shake.

“Open your mouth,” Kakashi says, the words rolling off him in a command.

And Tenzou does. He opens his mouth and allows Kakashi to fuck it, eyes scrunched shut as Kakashi fills his mouth with hard, heated flesh, choking him with cum that comes spluttering past his throat when Kakashi yanks his spent cock out. Tenzou coughs, gossamer strands of cum hanging past his chin and lips, his breaths still measured, still quieter than most others, as he stares unseeingly at the spent flesh before him, the back of his hand coming up to his mouth, wiping the cum away.

Kakashi sits down then, letting his clone take over. Leaning against the living room sofa, as Tenzou is bent forwards, facing him, his clone fucking him on all fours as Tenzou’s mouth pants and grunts against Kakashi’s semi-hardening cock. Kakashi watches his own cock disappear into Tenzou’s ass, watches as Tenzou takes it all the way in, a tremble going through his thighs and arms, as presses his head forward on Kakashi’s lower belly, trying to fuck his cock with his mouth, all while precariously balancing his entire body weight on the surface of Kakashi’s living room center table, until he’s coming, coming with his chin tipped upwards, a groan strangled somewhere in his throat. Kakashi watches all this as his clone disappears in a puff of chakra smoke, Tenzou’s head prisoner in his fist as dark eyes slide up to him, quiet and glinting sharp under the dim light of the living room table lamp.

“Get up,” Kakashi says, releasing Tenzou’s head and patting his own leg once.

Tenzou stands, shaking, cum dripping down his ass in a messy line on his thigh, his legs spreading when he slowly straddles Kakashi’s lap, a trembling hand taking hold of Kakashi’s now hard cock. He takes it in roughly, recklessly, uncaring even, the sharp entrance making Tenzou bite his lower lip, the flush high on his cheeks, down his neck and over the width of his chest. He shakes as he seats himself down, his clammy hands seeking purchase on Kakashi’s shoulders.

Move, Kakashi orders and Tenzou does. He bounces, quick and hard, right over the length of Kakashi’s cock, his balls slapping on Kakashi’s lower abdomen, as Kakashi’s hand rests on the globes of Tenzou’s ass, spreading it wider, lifting and slamming Tenzou down, brutal and hard, watching as each thrust makes something come apart in Tenzou’s chest. Until Tenzou’s ass is clenching and he’s coming, his mouth falling open, his head tilting to the side as he rides out his orgasm, inhaling, inhaling, and then choking when Kakashi wraps his fingers around his neck, squeezing the size of it, watching the flush rise higher on Tenzou’s cheeks, his eyes scrunching tighter, his lips trembling under Kakashi’s hold.

Kakashi comes like that, at the sight Tenzou makes, beautiful, surrendering, almost desperate.

And when it’s all over, Tenzou lies on the sofa, staring at a spot on the ceiling, the rush of his breath calmed, his body sagging heavily on the sofa cushions, spent cock resting on his leg as cum dries on his body.

“Feel better?” Kakashi asks.

“Yes, senpai…” Tenzou answers.

And it isn’t a lie.

*

It isn’t a lie because being with Kakashi leaves Tenzou content. Being around Kakashi is familiar. One would even call it safe. Kakashi is someone he can rely on. Kakashi is someone he knows. There is no need to be constantly putting words on any of Tenzou’s inetntions. Years of being together, working together, of camaraderie has removed that kind of necessity between them.

Kakashi, after all, may not have Tenzou’s heart, but he had everything else.

Tenzou tells himself that this is the way it should be.

Kakashi and his stability is Tenzou’s ultimate future.

*

Tenzou never stops dreaming of Iruka though.

It’s as if his heart has grown weary of his mind always being in control.

He dreams of a moment where he had stumbled home, rushed and late, wanting to be in Konoha by the 26th of May, just so that he can wrap his arms around Iruka and kiss him and say, Happy Birthday.

Tenzou manages to arrive on the 27th, barely able to stand straight in the genkan, making Iruka fuss and worry, checking him for injuries as Iruka’s hands peels the travel cloak off Tenzou’s shoulders, the mask coming off and falling with a clatter on the floor alongside the arm guards.

“What are you doing? Did you burn through your chakra?” Iruka asks, positioning himself under Tenzou’s arm, half helping, half dragging him towards the couch, where Iruka deposits Tenzou there with a bit of grunt.

Tenzou grins, wide, toothy, putting his hands together and forming a small pot between his hands, with sprouts of purple lavender budding and blooming from the tips of the green stems. “Happy birthday, Iruka,” Tenzou says, holding out the pot to Iruka. “Sorry, I’m late. I tried to come early—“

“Idiot!” Iruka snaps, taking the pot and also clocking Tenzou upside the head that leaves him chuckling and rubbing the spot. “Why would you be so reckless? Why would you even burn through – gods, I expected you to be more responsible than this!”

Iruka had the cutest flush on his cheeks, as he stands there berating Tenzou, both hands circled around the small pot of lavender, a symbol of Tenzou’s never-ending devotion to him.

“I wanted to come home as fast as I could,” Tenzou says, gently tugging Iruka to straddle his lap. He pulls the gloves off his hands, biting the finger tip and tossing it aside, inhaling a deep breath when his hands brush upon the warm blush on Iruka’s face. “I wanted to be here, for you, on your special day. Forgive me for being a day late.”

Iruka shakes his head, carefully setting the lavender pot by the table, before he leans in and presses lips on Tenzou’s, the way Tenzou has been wanting to do, since the day he stepped out of Konoha’s gates five weeks ago. “You’re here now…”

Tenzou dreams of coming home to Iruka. Every single time.

He dreams, and dreams, and dreams.

And when he wakes up, he has to remind himself where his commitment, his trust and his loyalty truly lies.

That it isn’t with Iruka.

It hasn’t been for almost five years and it will continue to be like that.

(Forgive me, for not having the courage to be by your side. Forgive me, for being weak.)  
  
*

“Did you know Tenzou was going to commit to Iruka?” Kakashi says one day to Gai, a little helpless, and perhaps a touch saddened by the memory of how easily Tenzou had tossed the symbol of his commitment into the trash.

“Our Tenzou?” Gai sounds surprised, taken aback even.

“Right?” Kakashi sighs, reaching up to rub the back of his head. They are sitting in the hospital courtyard, on a bench under the shade of a towering katsura tree. There are two cups of oolong tea between them.

“Why didn’t he? Iruka is an honorable man. My team spoke highly of him, especially Lee. He had been most kind to Lee when others weren’t so much,” Gai points out, his head tilted in puzzlement.

“I asked the same thing. Tenzou says they wanted different things,” Kakashi answers. “I found a ring, Gai. And let me tell you, it definitely wasn’t for me.” Gai goes quiet, his arms crossing, a look of deep thought on his face. “Tenzou isn’t the type to buy things like that.”

“I know…” Gai agrees, turning to look at Kakashi. “Do you think he still has feelings for Iruka?”

“I’m starting to think so…” Kakashi finds himself saying, honest and worried. “He leaves to train everyday at sunrise, suddenly. He is quieter, a lot quieter than he normally is. He’s distracted. If you can believe someone like Tenzou can be distracted. I’ve never seen him behave like this. And at the funeral, he…”

Kakashi thinks back to that day, where Tenzou’s eyes had been staring ahead, the claws of his gloves cutting into his flesh, crimson staining the frosted ground. It had been an outright show of lack of control, of no longer being able to keep everything on the inside, because whatever it is, had been wanting to explode.

“But he’s been with you all this time,” Gai points out. “Tenzou may not be the kind to commit like that, not romantically, but he seems like he's committed to you.”

“Which I’m grateful for, don’t get me wrong. I’m lucky to have the both of you in my life, it’s more than what I deserve.” Kakashi sighs, tilting his head when Gai reaches up to brush warm fingers at the nape of Kakashi’s neck. “I just… a part of me thinks he may just be happier with Iruka. And I’m not even upset about that. In fact, I want him to be happy. Even if its not with me.”

Gai is quiet for a while, before he says, “Then you must talk to him. Tenzou is a reasonable man. He will listen to you.”

*

Kakashi tells himself to bring up the matter with Tenzou, as soon as he finds the right time.

*

But the right time gets delayed as village matters fester one upon the other. Summer comes and goes, and with it the lush green of konoha turns gold. Kakashi is sitting late in the office one night, consulting with Tsunade on matters of healthcare, coming up with a more comprehensive plan for their forces to ensure physical and psychological impact.

The clock strikes midnight by the time they finish discussing their plan, looking at their drawing board and thinking that they may just have something concrete.

“It’s October 10,” Tsunade says, looking out the window, at the darkened muted lights of the village, a hush falling between them.

“He’d be treating himself to several packets of instant ramen today,” Kakashi says, guilt twisting in his heart at the reminder of who would no longer be present with them anymore. “He kept to himself on the tenth, never stayed out. Not even when he was genin.”

“He grew up too fast, that boy,” Tsunade says, standing up and pushing her chair back. “Sake?”

“Same place you kept it,” Kakashi answers, tipping his chin at the cabinet in the corner of the room.

They drink in quiet company, looking out at the village, nothing but the soft clink of their glasses filling the room as they pour each other drinks. The sake tastes sour, almost like bile, quite disgusting when its company on Kakashi’s tongue is bitter guilt. It burns all the way down as he swallows, igniting his insides on fire, like he’s being punished for a wrong he’s done, robbing this world of the kindest, bravest hero it’s ever seen

“It’s not your fault, you know?” Tsunade says, soft. Her words make Kakashi’s fingers tighten around the cup. “Sooner or later, death would have caught up to him too. This job, it’s – each time someone comes home dead, or when they don’t come home, you ever feel like a part of you disappears too?”

Kakashi swallows, staring down at his reflecting on his cup. “Every time, Tsunade-sama.”

“I wish I could tell you it gets easier. Gods, I wish I could tell you that you grow numb with each body count that crosses your table. That you forget their faces, their names.” Tsunade shakes her head. “I don’t know how grandfather did it. Frankly, I don’t even know how sensei did it. He had to do it twice, after the Yondaime.”

“Why did you pick me, Tsunade-sama?” Kakashi asks, a question he’s been wanting an answer to ever since they told him that he’s to carry the title of Hokage.

“Because you were the most qualified,” Tsuande shrugs, looking self deprecating. “You were the strongest amongst our people. You _are_ a leader, whether you like it or not. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re reluctant that makes you a good leader. You don’t want to let your people down, your team down,” Tsunade laughs, not unkindly, and once more, just a little self deprecating. “I knew from the moment I came back, and woke you up from Itachi’s coma. I knew the moment it broke you when your team fell apart. It had to be you. You know the value of human failure; of what it means to be weak. You would know how to keep standing, even when you think can’t. But you weren’t exactly stable either. You’ll have to forgive me for making a political decision in ensuring that you were kept stable. How’s Tenzou these days? Is he still with you?”

Kakashi blinks, looking up sharply at that. “He’s fine.”

“Now that’s something I didn’t count on. That kid doesn’t know the difference between a command and a request. But hey, he stuck by your side, didn’t he? It worked out, didn’t it? You two happy together?” Tsunade asks.

Just as everything in Kakashi skids to a screeching halt, his eyes wide as he stares at Tsunade like she’s lost her mind. “You could say that…” Kakashi finds himself whispering, his tongue as heavy as lead in his mouth, a ringing in his ear echoing throughout the inside of his cranium.

He stops hearing Tsunade, as Tsunade proceeds to talk about the council, how Kakahsi should consider retiring them, replace them with never, current generation that can guide him better, provide better insight.

He stops listening because the realization that Tenzou had been ordered to be with him wraps around his neck like a collar, choking him, squeezing him, turning his breath sour, when Kakashi had allowed his guard to fall around Tenzou. When Kakashi had allowed himself to sink to his lowest points around Tenzou, grappling onto him like he’s only the lifeline in the dark, when the screams in his head had been so loud, the cry of a thousands birds burning lightning blue and piercing flesh too vivid.

It had been an order.

(Suddenly, it all makes sense.)

*

Tenzou is in the middle of making tea, unable to sleep when Kakashi comes home, a little past one in the morning, looking furious. Furious and withdrawn, as cold as ice as he comes into the kitchen, his hands grasping the edge of the island, leather squeaking with the iron grip he had on the marble. Tenzou takes one look at Kakashi and sighs, foregoing the tea and opens the cabinet to take out glasses instead. He takes the whiskey out too, bare feet padding to the freezer to take the ice out as well.

“Bad day with the council?” Tenzou asks, breaking some of the ice from the tray, tapping some into the glass.

“Tsunade-sama ordered you to _be_ with me, didn’t she?” Kakashi says, voice cold, curt, distant.

Tenzou’s hand stills, his eyes staring at the countertop. Tenzou doesn’t see what the big deal is; it had been more than just an order. It had been an act of supporting a man he knew, from the depths of his being, he could never truly abandon. That Tenzou turning his back on Kakashi is something unheard of. He had hoped that the part of it being order wouldn’t come to light. Now that he it did, Tenzou still sees how he would have done anything differently. He would have still left Iruka if it meant ensuring Kakashi would remain strong and whole. He wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.

Tenzou turns, facing Kakashi, not shying from the storm that spins in the depths of his gray eyes. “And?”

“Are you happy here, Tenzou?” Kakashi asks. He doesn’t lower the mask. He doesn’t bare himself. Not like this when he’s so furious. When he is flushed with a temper that burns like the coldest peak of Snow.

“I am content to be with you,” Tenzou responds, because it’s the truth.

“Are you in love with me?”

“Are _you_?” Tenzou throws back, his back straightening.

“Yes.” Kakashi answers, ducking his head, huffing through his nose. “Of course I am. I have been for years. Wasn’t it obvious?”

Tenzou doesn’t answer because Kakashi’s love is not like Iruka’s love. Kakashi’s love isn’t warm, it isn’t sunshine and soft dimpled smiles. Kakashi’s love, maybe, is familiarity between them, strong hands that steadies Tenzou, hands that sometimes shake but never the less always extends to pull Tenzou back on his feet. Kakashi’s love is having Tenzou’s back when they’re facing an enemy, when mokuton and raikiri attack simultaneously and tear down the obstacle that’s in front of them. When they move like they’re part of each other, when they know when to anticipate the other, whether they’re facing an enemy or falling into bed, their mouths crashing and their cocks rubbing against each other.

But Kakashi’s love never made Tenzou’s chest swell like it’s filled with an ever growing hot air balloon. Kakashi’s love never made his hands or toes tingle when they’re not fucking, when they’re simply sitting and eating, for example. Kakashi’s love never made Tenzou want to rush home too fast, want to wrap his arms around Kakashi just because he could, just because it would make him smile. Kakashi’s love never made the inside of Tenzou’s stomach swoop inwards then downwards, only to explode into a thousand flutter of butterfly wings. Kakashi’s love didn’t make Tenzou more focused, didn’t make him stronger, didn’t make him brave enough to reach out when they’re in public and hold their hands.

Kakashi’s love is different because Kakashi’s love is something that has been consistent from the very moment Tenzou met him. Kakashi’s love is a solid presence, like a clap on Tenzou’s shoulder, one that squeezes firmly, one that assures that they’ll always be there, no matter what.

Hatake Kakashi isn’t even beautiful, not the way Iruka is. He isn’t brave like Iruka, who wears his heart on his sleeve, who is fearless in other ways. Hatake Kakashi is afraid to be human, where Iruka is not.

Hatake Kakashi is a weapon who loves.

Iruka is just a man who loves.

Iruka has always been himself.

Kakashi never was. Not even with the mask on.

And maybe a part of Kakashi had been himself when he had been around Tenzou. Maybe he trusted Tenzou enough to let his guard down, just a little bit, and call it love, too. Maybe it is.

Tenzou wouldn’t know.

(How the fuck would he know?)

“Kakashi,” Tenzou says, dropping all titles. “Order or not, I chose to be with you. You have my commitment, my loyalty and my trust. You have me in every way that matters. Is that not good enough for you?”

“It was an _order_ ,” Kakashi _snaps_.

“And I’m still here!” Tenzou fires back, forcing himself to stay still, gathering every bit of strength in him to not cross the space between them and remind Kakashi just how here he is. “I’m here, aren’t I? I choose to be here. With you! Honestly, get your head out of your ass. You’re rocking this boat for no other reason other than a technicality. I am not abandoning this relationship. I am staying in this relationship. If you choose to rock this boat just because my choice originated from an 'order', then you have no one to blame but yourself if this relationship fails. You’re to blame, not me. Make sure you get that into your head.”

Tenzou pushes himself off the counter, shoving the ice tray back in the freezer, leaving the glass in the sink, his heart jackhammering in his chest like he’s just run across the distance between Konoha and Suna.

“Did Iruka know?” Kakashi asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What do you think?” Tenzou mutters, dark, and bitter.

The marble cracks, spider webs elongating along the length of the island. “Don’t bullshit me, Tenzou, did he fucking know?” Kakashi grits out.

Tenzou thinks back on the night he told Iruka, on how Iruka had looked like he had lost everything in that moment. How he sat there, quiet, mute, only to take Tenzou’s hand and smile, swallowing past whatever protest that must have risen to the back of his throat. How he had smiled, gods, that smile that still haunts Tenzou sometimes, whenever he closes his eyes to sleep.

Tenzou could lie. He could spare Kakashi the guilt trip.

But they aren’t like that. He and Kakashi. There are no lies between them. There shouldn’t be any now.

“He knew,” Tenzou responds, watching as Kakashi lets go of the marble counter like he’s been burned, taking a step back, a look of utter horror, of betrayal crossing his features. Tenzou tears his gaze away from that, his teeth grinding and grinding and grinding until it sends a radiating throb up his temples. “And he understood.”

Kakashi says nothing.

Kakashi turns around and leaves the manor, not sparing Tenzou a second look.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, at least I gave you some porn. But yes, go ahead. Please scream. I love you all.


	6. vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Please mind the tags. All tags pertaining to this story has been slapped on. It may not all unfold/be obvious at the beginning but it will. So if any of the tags make you uncomfortable, don't read. You've been warned.

Kakashi doesn’t come home for days after that night.

And Tenzou cannot seem to understand why.

Of course I am, Kakashi had said. I have been for years, he said.

Being in love with Tenzou, that is.

In all the years Tenzou has known Kakashi, commitment of the heart had not been something he thought Kakashi would expect of him. When commitment in and of itself is simply the state of being dedicated to a cause, a sort of pledge or undertaking, an engagement, a promise or obligation that restricts freedom of action. Commitment be it of the heart of mind, don’t they come from the same person? At the end of the day, Tenzou cannot wrap his head around the fact that why should it matter so much to someone like Kakashi, who rejects love, who had put distance on things like love, a man so afraid of commitment, would expect that of him. When their commitment to each other now, as it is a deep and ever steadfast friendship, one in which their trust remains unshakeable for each other, that they would neither bat an eyelash if a time comes where they would lay their lives down to save the other. Tenzou knows without a shred of doubt in his entire being that between danger and Kakashi, he’d put himself in the line of fire.

Tenzou didn’t accept Tsunade’s mission all those years ago thinking there was an end date in his commitment to Kakashi.

Tenzou had made the decision to be with Kakashi for the rest of his life.

He carried no lofty ambitions that perhaps a day would loom over the horizon where he’d be able to perhaps, maybe, return to Iruka’s arms one day. He had thrown that right away the moment he told Iruka the truth. Thinking about returning to Iruka would allow the yearning to grow and fester like an infection under his skin. Thinking about the possibility of ever being with Iruka again would distract Tenzou, would put images in his mind that didn’t belong when he should be solely focused on Kakashi. It had been something Tenzou didn’t want lingering at the back of his mind, when he knows that Kakashi would need his unending support in every way that matters if he is to be pulled back from tipping over the edge of his own guilt. And while their relationship may not take form in the shape of paper signed or a silver ring, it had been something Tenzou had chosen for himself, albeit nudged just a tiniest bit by Tsunade’s mission.

Tenzou likes to think that within the walls of the Hokage manor, he and Kakashi had found peace with each other. And that if there bad been something that Tenzou couldn’t provide, Kakashi had found it in the arms of Maito Gai.

He likes to think that his relationship with Kakashi is some sort of evolution, something beyond social norms, or what is written in luridly colored paperbacks.

Kakashi had every part of Tenzou that matters.

(All except his heart.)

So when Kakashi doesn’t come home, it triggers something in Tenzou that he didn’t think would be possible.

Tenzou gets irritated.

*

Because why are you doing this now? What is the point of being upset now? What difference would it make if you knew or didn’t, I would have still chosen you! What different would it have made if Iruka knew or not, I still chose you.

You have my commitment, my loyalty, my trust.

Why are those things not enough when they are the core things that make up a solid union, anyway?

Why?

I don’t understand.

(Isn’t loyalty love, too?)

*

“You can’t stay here forever,” Gai gently says, brushing fingers over the thick unruly strands of Kakashi’s coarse hair. “The nurses usually bother me to help get some of our rehabilitating shinobi to move with their training. I have noticed a drop in their asking for my assistance. Did you have something to do with that, by any chance?”

Kakashi makes a noncommittal sound, keeping his eyes closed and listening to Gai’s strong, steady, heartbeat.

“You need to talk to him, Kakashi. Not your most favorite thing to do, but avoiding this isn’t going to make you swallow this reality better nor is it going to change your relationship status with Tenzou.” Gai shifts from the bed, pulling Kakashi up and gently, but firmly holding him by the shoulder. “You need to ask yourself if you still want to remain with Tenzou. If the past some five years has any value to you, even with this information.”

“It’s not that simple, Gai,” Kakashi murmurs.

“It is actually that simple,” Gai softly says. “It’s never been simpler.”

“What would you do if you were in my shoes?” Kakashi murmurs.

“Nice try. I’m not answering that,” Gai says firmly. “Although.” Gai tips Kakashi’s chin up, peering under and at him with something glistening around the corners of his eyes, something that looks like an unshakeable promise. “Whatever you choose to do? I’m always here for you. Another thing you have to ask yourself is that if I’m going to be enough for you anymore, hmm?”

Kakashi watches as tears begin to carve down the sun kissed gold skin of Gai’s cheeks, dripping down the sheets as Gai looks at him. It leaves Kakashi’s throat constricting, tightened by an invisible collar, as he watches Gai wrinkle his nose and turn his gaze away, rubbing the back of his sleeve over his eyes and clearing his throat.

Gai has loved him like no other. Gai has loved Kakashi through his guilt and beyond, for years since their youth. Guilt that Kakashi has lived constantly for years, as if his insides was constantly being lit with fire and gasoline. He would suffocate and poison himself from the toxicity of its fumes, rendering him with weak hands that always balls to fists to fight far too late, when they would have already put raikiri into one’s chest, or worst, they’d be too weak to life rocks that weighs as heavy as a mountain. Kakashi’s guild didn’t need more than a spark to set it ablaze, no more than a look over one’s shoulder, or the words ‘I want to be an avenger’ coming past lips that are too young yet starved of power. It didn’t take more than his team finding better teachers than him, or what was left of his team anyway, to set that guilt ablaze like a forest fire in his lungs, when the weight of his mentor and teacher’s son had weight like lead in his arms, his chest yawning wide open, cracked ribs, singed flesh, the smell of cooked innards passing through the barricade of his mask and into his nose. Kakashi has buried promise, after promise, has told himself that he’s going to do better, that he’ll try to do better, only to fail and fail and fail.

The only two things that didn’t change in all his years is Gai’s love and Tenzou constant commitment to their companionship.

Kakashi has lost too many men and women in his lifetime, has failed countless of comrades during his time as Hound and as an active field jounin.

He didn’t want to keep adding to it by robbing more families of their loved ones, by coming home and standing at the doorstep to apologize as team captain when he’s failed to bring a fellow ANBU home, or a fellow Jounin and chuunin home.

Kakashi continues to bury the dead now as Hokage, one after the other, delegating missions in hopes that they’d come back whole and alive, only to suffocate once more, his gag reflex rebelling against smoke and fumes of his guilt as he struggles to breathe each time his team comes back with just one member short. If they even came back at all.

Kakashi didn’t want to needlessly put a fist into people’s chest and rip their hearts out. Kakashi remembers Iruka’s answer, all those nights ago when he sat in the corner of the worn sofa in Iruka’s apartment, just a little after Naruto’s funeral. He had asked Iruka if there is anybody he can call to be with him.

 _There is nobody_ , Iruka had said.

(There hasn’t been anybody for years, to Kakashi’s knowledge.)

 _You took him from me,_ Kakashi should have heard.

He should have known. He should have trusted his instincts more when Tenzou had never looked happier, had never looked whole than he did when he had been with Umino Iruka. That even before Tenzou’s commitment to Kakashi, Kakashi always had Gai.

“You’re enough,” Kakashi murmurs, reaching out to take Gai’s hand, watching as Gai’s eyes momentarily widens at the statement. “You always were.”

“You’ve always done the right thing when it matters the most, Kakashi, you have been for years.” Gai smiles, warm and wide, as bright as summer within the confines of the small room of the hospital that he still remains a temporary resident of during the duration of his nerve-regeneration treatment. “I believe that whatever you choose do to here, you will do so with vigor and tenacity that I know you’ve always been capable of.”

*

Sometimes, Kakashi wonders if Gai’s faith in him is misplaced.

Sometimes, he wonders why Gai even believes in him in the first place.

But Kakashi makes his decision to rescind the order that Tenzou was given in an official manner.

*

The order is placed before Tenzou in a sealed scroll, one evening, when Kakashi finally comes home several days later. Tenzou takes the scroll, unfurls it and reads the contents. He acknowledges the contents of the scroll with a dip of his head towards the Hokage.

“Orders received,” Tenzou says, before he stands up and dumps the scroll into the kitchen sink, promptly setting it on fire to confirm receipt of his new rescinded order.

“You’re free now,” Kakashi says, his tone neutral, calm.

“Of what?” Tenzou returns, turning the tap on and rinsing out the ash. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tenzou—“

“I am _not_ going anywhere,” Tenzou repeats, firmly, shutting the sink off, something in his chest pinching as he turns to face Kakashi head on. “Why are you doing this?”

“This isn’t right.” Kakashi says, shaking his head, a look of anguish crossing his features. Tenzou watches with his breath catching in his throat when Kakashi pulls out a familiar velvet case from his utility pouch, something that he places gently on the counter. “You know it.”

And Tenzou stands there, as something hot and calamitous washes over him, drowning him in a sea of red as he stares at the small box he had thrown away weeks ago. He had thrown that fucking thing away because it was garbage. He had thrown it away because it had been something he should have buried all those fucking years ago and here it is again, surfacing in his reality when it had to have been buried in a landfill somewhere far, far away, forgotten, unwanted. Tenzou closes his eyes, dipping his chin as his hands balls into white knuckled tight fists, his teeth grinding in an effort to say nothing, to remain silent, to not engage Kakashi in his quest to right a thing that was never a wrong in the first place. Not when he and Iruka parted with an understanding. Not after they’ve said their goodbyes to each other, accepted their fates and chose to live their lives separately. They said their fucking goodbyes!

Tenzou’s form hunches forward, exuding an animosity that is like burning, slicing, potent acid. The heat travels up from somewhere in the fire of his gut all the way to his chest, radiating upwards until it flushes his ears with a fiery suppressed rage. Kakashi is still talking, something about the funeral, about Iruka being alone, how no matter what angle Kakashi looks at it, none of this remains right.

“How dare you?” Tenzou asks, the syllables even, soft, as he directs all that fire, all that heat to the man who is so keen on disrupting every bit of balance that has remained undisturbed for _years_. When there is no reason to disturb it. When they are men who do not walk in the light, where fairy-tales exists and everyone gets their happy ending. When their own happy ending has been the past five years. “You think you can come in here and tell me that none of this right after _five years_? When I chose to stay!”

Kakashi freezes, Tenzou’s voice cutting through his words sharply, loudly, the echo of his words bouncing through the walls of the manor, echoing in its deafening explosiveness.

“Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you feel _nothing_ for him? That you have never thought about him, not once, in all these five years?” Kakashi asks, challenging Tenzou’s claim of choosing to stay, taking a step closer towards him, unafraid. He walks closer, and closer, firing unmercilessly “Doesn’t it bother you at all? That all these years Iruka remains unattached. That on the night that he loses the boy that is like a son to him, that he’d admit to his Hokage that he has nobody? All these years, you left him alone. You left him and for what – for _me_?”

“I feel nothing for Iruka,” Tenzou says, a lie that passes like bitter bile through his teeth, past his tongue and into the air of the world.

“You _destroyed_ him—“ Kakashi taunts.

Tenzou is shoving Kakashi backwards, putting distance between them because Kakashi is too close, he’s far too close like this, to the truth. When all those years ago, Iruka had looked at his own hands as Tenzou informs him of the decision he’s going to take, that the order is merely the tip of the iceberg. Iruka hears it, Tenzou’s commitment that had robbed his face of color and what little joy that had managed to find itself rising in the surface in Tenzou’s company. Iruka who had merely nodded, as he had swallowed past whatever that had bubbled up to his throat, clenched his hand once and then took Tenzou’s hands in his in a tight, warm, and gods, ever so understanding squeeze and simply said, _I understand_. Iruka who couldn’t even find the strength to say anything during his last moments in Tenzou’s presence, who couldn’t even look at him. Iruka who smiled through it all, his eyes that had once been bright with all the love in the world, were then somewhat dulled, nothing more than rusty reflection of its previous lustre. Tenzou who knows he had taken with him a part of Iruka selfishly for himself, a part that had left Iruka with a yawning emptiness that he didn’t even try to fill with the years that went by – Tenzou who had taken his love and crushed it with his choice to remain loyal to the man he respected the most.

Kakashi isn’t wrong.

When you take someone’s love like that and bury it in the deepest parts of you, where you can only see glimpses of its beauty in dreams and memories when you close your eyes at night, you leave them hollowed and empty, wandering through day after day, fulfilling duty because what else would you do when your chest remains devoid of love? When you were robbed?

And Kakashi should have known that this would have been Tenzou’s one hot button. That Tenzou, the man who has lived through countless of genocides and massacre upon massacre, Tenzou who had nothing in him to break would snap like this. Because the truth is, Tenzou isn’t indestructible as he thinks himself to be. Tenzou isn’t strong like he thinks himself to be. He isn’t fearless. He isn’t unafraid of being cornered with the truth like he is now.

Tenzou isn’t strong at all.

Not when it comes to Umino Iruka, apparently.

Kakashi stands there feeling like a colossal fool, when he should have known something was wrong with the words, _we wanted different things_. When he should have known that those words were code for something else, something bigger, something that isn’t related to being selfish. He should have trusted the happiness he had seen in the past, the one where Tenzou would openly hold Iruka’s hand in public, where the set of Tenzou’s lips would curve just ever so upwards, soft, and gentle, as he looked at Iruka’s face like the world around him didn’t exist. He should have trusted the sight of Tenzou fucking _freezing_ at the reminder of his commitment, Tenzou’s true, real choice to want a forever with the man that made him smile like he’s more than just the weapon he was forged to be. Kakashi should have fucking known.

He should have seen underneath the underneath.

And now here Tenzou stands, flushed with an anger he cannot quite control, something that bubbles to the surface like crackling burn of a forest fire, all encompassing, all heat and _rage_ that leaves Tenzou’s eyes pitch black, his pupils dilated, the set of his jaw pulled taut, legs poised in a battle stance, like he’s ready to strike forward and cut down the enemy before him.

Kakashi cannot think of a _single_ time he’s ever awakened any such emotion within Tenzou. He cannot recall a time where he had been able to make Tenzou react this raw about anything, not even when it’s something related to himself.

This is all the proof Kakashi needs. Proof that Tenzou still very much, loves Umino Iruka because Umino Iruka is the only person who seems to be capable of igniting the humanity that Tenzou thinks he has buried all those years ago when he had been with Root.

(Kakashi has never been able to awaken anything in Tenzou; he supposes he should be happy that he can at least get anger out of him.)

“Oh?” Kakashi blinks, tilting his head. “Am I wrong?”

“Watch your mouth,” Tenzou warns.

“You _broke_ him—“ Kakashi jerks when Tenzou’s fists grabs him by the collar, when Tenzou _lifts_ him off his feet and onto his tiptoes. Kakashi goes for the killing strike, digging salted fingers into wounds that he knows remain raw and open, regret that will never heal because they never, ever do. Not in Kakashi’s experience. “—and he’s never moved on. You did that to him. Why, Tenzou?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Tenzou _snaps._

“Did he deserve it?” Kakashi drawls, uncaring when the fabric of his vest crumples and squeaks as Tenzou’s hands tightens even more. “What did he do? Hmm? Did he even get a say on the decision you made? Did you silence him the way you’re trying to silence me now? When he loved you. He loved you with everything that he is. That years later he’d rather be alone than be with anyone else, because you took that from him, didn’t you? That’s what we do, people like you and me, right? We _take_ things from good, kind people and we leave them broken to rot, justifying our actions through _orders_ —“

Tenzou’s fist catches the side of Kakashi jaw in an hook.

Kakashi’s head snaps to the side, the force of the blow making him stagger a few steps backwards as his hand comes up to cradle his jaw. Blood rises to the surface, his fingers hooking on to the mask that he pulls down to spit one of his teeth implants out, sniffing and swiping the back of his hand over his broken nose and bleeding lip.

Kakashi looks up and finds Tenzou standing there, frozen, a look of barely suppressed rage still boiling on the surface, peppered with horror at the fact that he’s lost all sense of control, only because Kakashi had twisted a knife in the wound that Tenzou’s has been so desperately trying to hide.

He’s guilty, Kakashi thinks, and chuckles to himself self deprecatingly as he straightens and sniffs through the pouring blood from his nose. Any harder and Tenzou would have dislocated his jaw.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about, am I?” Kakashi asks, shaking his head. “Look at you Tenzou,” he adds softly.

“Why are you doing this?” Tenzou asks. “You have me in every way that matters! Why is that not enough? Why must you continually bring back the past to the present when Iruka and I are past that? What did I even do to deserve this from you? When I have sworn to live my life for you, with you, for however long we have left—“

“You left him,” Kakashi says, clearing his throat as spits out more blood into the kitchen sink. “That’s what you did wrong. You should have never left him.”

“Who are you to decide that for me?” Tenzou demands, carding fingers through his hair in a show of frustration and gods, Tenzou is beautiful like this, so incredibly human, so real, so raw.

(A small part of you wonders that maybe, just maybe, if you didn’t challenge this decision at all, if you continued as it is with Tenzou, if one day, he’d react so viscerally like this when it came to matters involving you. You wonder about this for a second, a heart beat, and realize, that you’ve been with Tenzou for years, longer than the past five years of commitment, and not once has Tenzou ever burned this bright when it comes to you.)

“Someone who knows you,” Kakashi mutters, and doesn’t say, _someone who loves you_ , _who wants you to be happy, even if that happy doesn’t include me_. “Iruka is going to be back in a two weeks. Upon his return, I am going to inform him that the orders have been rescinded—“

“Don’t you dare.” Tenzou steps forward, right in to Kakashi’s space, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“—and that he should find you as soon as possible.” Kakashi continues, unperturbed by the bruising, desperate grip Tenzou had on his shoulders that would surely bruise for days.

“Isn’t it enough that you’ve done this to me? That you have drag him into this too? Are you so far up in your ass that you can’t just leave him out of this?” Tenzou fingers are impossibly tight. Painful. “Leave him out of this! Please!”

“Maybe the both you can live like this just fine. But I can’t,” Kakashi says, defeated and suddenly so very tired. “I _won’t_ , Tenzou. And if you have any respect at all for me, you’d understand why.”

Kakashi grabs Tenzou’s wrist and _wrenches_ it off his shoulders, taking a step back and putting distance between them.

“ _Senpai, please_!” Tenzou _begs_ , his knees quaking when he sinks down on them on the floor, hands planting on the cold kitchen tiles with a sharp, resonating clap as he presses his forehead to the ground. “ _Please!”_

Kakashi swallows, staring at Tenzou’s forms on his knees, begging to spare the love of his life any grief or maybe hope, because hope is a dangerous, dangerous thing. It’s the kind that makes men foolish.

(Would Tenzou ever get on his knees for you? Would he ever beg for you?)

Kakashi turns around and leaves Tenzou there, kneeling on the ground, his chest heavy as he knows, without a shred of doubt, that he is doing the right thing.

*

Tenzou doesn't pack his things. He doesn't get ready to move out.

Kakashi allows him to stay even though they spend nights on separate rooms. Tenzou remains a constant presence. They eat dinner together, they discuss matters of the village together, they read and watch together.

But they remain distant. Their mouths do not kiss, their fingers do not touch.

And Kakashi thinks this is okay. Maybe Tenzou isn't ready to stand on his own two feet outside with all this freedom in his hands. Maybe he needs time to adjust, to gather himself, strategize. Maybe once Iruka is back, he'll be braver. Iruka will be back within two weeks. Kakashi just as to wait a little longer. 

Besides, the manor is more than big enough for the two of them.

*

But Tenzou has no plans of leaving. He has no plans in returning to Iruka.

He's hoping Kakashi will change his mind.

Because the truth is, he's comfortable around Kakashi. He's been comfortable around Kakashi. Although his heart and stomach doesn't bend this way or that when he's around Kakashi, Tenzou is comfortable with having a solid shoulder to lean on.

(I want you to be happy. Even if it's not with me.)

Truth is, Tenzou doesn't even know if he can be any more. Happy that is. What if Iruka doesn't want him anymore?

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fans self* 
> 
> A raw guilty Tenzou is a hot Tenzou. Oh god. Also a bloody Kakashi is sexy AF.


	7. vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

Iruka arrives in Konoha months after stepping out of it with a heavy heart, one afternoon, just short of sunset where he pauses, just short of stepping past the gates and registering with the guards on duty, to stand upon what had once been a road paved with lush greenery, as far as the eye can see, only disturbed by the distant shape of the Hokage tower and its fiery red sign.

He has spent the peak of summer under the cruel beat down of the sun, a single malevolent eye in the sky that had stared down at the citizens of Sunagakure unblinkingly, as if conspiring with the sky when days would stretch to weeks where not a wisp of cloud would soften the burn of the sun’s harsh rays. Iruka would duck under shadows in between his walk from his assigned apartment to the Academy, where the sand and asphalt road wouldn’t roast the bottom of his feet, despite the protection of his shinobi boots. Kankurou had jokingly said upon his arrival that he had picked the absolute worst time to visit Sunagakure, that there is never enough shade within the village proper to protect anyone from the devil in the sky. Iruka had thought initially that Kankurou had been exaggerating.

Kankurou wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

There are days where Iruka would look past stretch of the broken waste of desert beyond the Academy during his morning walks, at the rolling hills of endless gold, salty sweat rolling down his temple and nose, stinging his eyes, his clothes unbearably hot and stick. The stiff, dry desert breeze would blow sand against his eyes, his hair and brows ending up stiff with salt. On those blistering days, Iruka swears his tongue would feel as if it is coated in fur, his lips chapped and dry that no amount of crystal cold water from the deep wells of Sunagakure would quench, no matter how many glasses Iruka would drink.

But the nights – well, the nights are Iruka’s favorite. When the sun disappears, the velvet dark that would hang over Sungakure would be alight with a billion stars. They were almost a reminder of what beauty lay beyond the blinding light of the summer sun, where one’s eyes sometimes can no longer see what’s head of them from the ferocity of the heat waves. Those nights would remind Iruka to not lose hope, that there is still a dawn tomorrow, another day to further serve his village to the best of his ability.

(Naruto would have wanted that. Doing what’s best for Konoha, that is. Tenzou too, would have appreciated that. Servitude. It’s what he lived for, it’s what he bled for. He would have expected the same of Iruka, wouldn’t he?)

The nights are Iruka’s brightest moments, where everything above seems bigger, brighter, blurred in the most fantastic way as if it were artistically painted on canvas. Iruka has lost count how many times he would lay on a straw mat on his balcony floor, staring upwards at the sky, the humidity be damned, the flow of the full moon, so large, so vivid, a celestial kind eye in the backdrop of black to the devil in the sky during the day. He would like there with an icy cold pitcher of hibiscus tea and a plate of dried dates, reaching out blindly with fingers and popping the sweet fruit into his mouth, as he goes over the day’s activities in his mind’s eye, uncaring that shirt on his back would start to sweat from the gradual humidity, barely staved off the by the cool floor. Iruka would lie there and remember Naruto, sometimes, their conversations through out the years, how much he’s grown and how much he has achieved and just how much Iruka regrets not giving him more when he had been younger.

Sometimes, Iruka would close his eyes to the starry sky above, salt trickling down the side of his eyes and onto the mat when the grief gets too much. Naruto had told Iruka several things he liked and thoroughly enjoyed in Sunagakure. Things that Naruto had punctuated with a, _it’s so good, Iruka-sensei! You have to try it if you ever end up in Suna during your active days in the summer! You won’t regret it! I promise!_

Things like spiced rice and roasted lamb cooked in a covered deep hole in the ground, the flavors retained within the confines of its cooking pot. Things like chickpea and sesame sea paste, mixed with spices and eaten with warm, fresh out of the oven bread. Things like parsley salad with semolina, which Naruto had been so proud to have eaten alongside sticks of grilled meats and tender, juicy chicken. Things like sweet deep fried, crunchy and airy dumplings topped with date syrup and sesame seeds, which turns out to be one of Iruka’s favorites, something he picks up at least twice a week from the corner stall next to the book store, a place that Naruto and Sakura had not stopped raving about. Things like pupkin pudding, spiced with cardamom and saffron with a touch rosewater and sweetened with honey. Things like sweetened, spiced black tea, served in small cups that are piping hot despite the water, but something Iruka has learned to appreciate when he’s within the air-conditioned confines of the Academy walls.

Iruka had gone through all of the memories Naruto had brought and shared with him over several bowls of ramen. Iruka drank and ate and sometimes wept as he chewed, thinking that Naruto was robbed off this earth far too soon. Because I would have loved to tell you about pistachio camel milkshake, how wonderfully creamy it is, that the best place to get it is from a small stall ran by Shiko-san, right next to the supermarket of the main village square. I would have loved to tell you how they also have another kind of tea, the kind where they add mint and lemon which is something I am planning to bring back with me, because it’s delicious with dates! I would have loved to tell you about this thing they call _jallab_ , one of the first things Kankuro told me drink, that I have no idea what it’s made off, except I love that it comes with crushed ice, raisins and pine nuts! I would have loved to tell you how I’ve ridden a camel for the first time in my life, that they’re wonderful, kind amazing creatures. Or how I’ve spent some of my weekends listening to and _oud_ performer on the village square, singing the most beautiful of songs, true poetry. I would have loved to tell you all of this, if only you were still here. That I’ve done and tried the things you’ve told me about. That I never forget anything you’ve told me.

And those days would be the hardest, where Iruka would tear his gaze away from the heaven above, like he can’t bear to watch the stars twinkle above him.

Then there were the days where he would remember Tenzou, too, where he’d see the weave of a scarf and think that it might be something Tenzou would appreciate. When he’d sit in the middle of the main square on a stone carved bench, nursing a tall glass of sweetened ice hibiscus tea and think back to all those days where he and Tenzou had done the same, where they’d sit in one of Konoha’s many parks, nursing iced matcha or sometimes, ice cream cones, watching the sunset with their fingers laced together, content to simply _be_ in each other’s company. When he’d lie on his back looking up at the stars and think back to how he’d stared at the same stars, miles away, out of the small window of Tenzou’s bedroom, or sometimes Iruka’s own bedroom, with Tenzou’s lips clamped over Iruka’s neck, their bodies rocking as Iruka breathed a sigh and stuttered syllables of Tenzou’s name. When even the sight of imported fresh persimmons, or cherries, or ripe plums and peaches at a market stall would remind Iruka of Tenzou coming home to him, a paperbag tucked under his arm, a grin on his face when he’d pull out a large sweet peach from the bag and say, _look what I found for you today_ ~

Those days are hard too. Remembering Tenzou and what he once had, that is.

Because Tenzou doesn’t belong to him anymore. Tenzou made a conscious choice to choke the love he had for Iruka all way down, suffocating it until it no longer lights the deep blacks of his eyes, where Tenzou’s lips would no longer smile at him, if they even bumped into each other at all, but remain in a polite thin line of neutrality. When Iruka knows Tenzou’s smiles are beautiful, wonderful, outright devilish and sexy sometimes, the kind that would leave his knees so weak whenever Tenzou’s incisors would peek past his ever slow, smirking and upward curving lips.

But Sunagakure had been nothing but kind and hospitable to Iruka. Working in their Academy and receiving best practices and shadow training has been one of the most enlightening experiences Iruka has ever been a part of. So even when his heart is heavy, his students and peers at the Academy would remind him that there is still good to live for, that the smiles and crows of Iruka-sensei from foreign children and their loud, little mouths would always be there for him. That seasoned teachers would turn to him for advise about their students and affinity, look to his knowledge on how to handle behavioural concerns and the best way to correct it. That even if he lost the two things that Iruka holds dearly to his heart, he still hasn’t lost the one thing that still somehow, no matter how difficult sometimes, manages to make Iruka get up every morning and face the day ahead.

Iruka cannot bear to imagine losing his shinobi way.

Now that he’s back, away from the humid nights and blistering days of the desert, he finds himself missing Sunagakure. He finds himself missing the desert that at twilight is a vast undulating sea, punctuated by shadowy silhouettes of cactus, like great ghost ships upon sandy waves. He misses the smell of roasting grills in the markets, the sweet creamy taste of ripened dates or the crunch of raw red dates. He misses his children there, who had wept with abandon during their goodbye and thank you ceremony, who had begged him to come back. Where the Academy staff had been warm and brought with them pots of warm meat stew and freshly made crispy bread for lunch, along side several prepacked gifts of bars of sweetened peanuts and canisters of Iruka’s favorite tea, with hand written instructions on how to prepare his favorite _karak_ when he gets home. Where the staff had sang him a traditional song for farewell, and then handed him home made canisters packed with rose scented pot pouri, _so you always have a piece of Suna with you whenever you get home_. Iruka didn’t think they’d judge him too harshly for getting emotional. When the Kazekage himself had been present and presented him with a travel cloak as a parting gift, wishing him a sage journey ahead.

Being here now, in Konoha, where the Hokage monuments will never reflect the dreams of a boy who had shouted at the heavens that he is going to be the best Hokage there is, the boy who saved not just Konoha but the world, makes Iruka suddenly unable to stand the sight of his home. Not when it feels like he’s been robbed.

Sunagakure had been more of a home in its new and different unfamiliarity.

Here, now, as Iruka stands in stasis under the gentle touch of the slowly disappearing sun. The air bares only the coldness of the frozen ground, they flimmer with the gift of each fading nascent ray. Iruka walks over this thin blanket of iced ground, gravel and frost crunching under his boots as he makes his way to the Hokage tower, his head tucked under the hood of his travel cloak, still. He bypasses the wintry trees that paves the road like frozen dancers, poised to show everyone who looks their grace and strength, showing how they still remain strong, still, despite the seasonal gusts. Konoha at this time of the year is barren of green, leaves long turned golds and fiery reds, fallen and sunken to the ground. Konoha at this time of the year is bitter, almost harsh in its winter serenade. Yet despite all that, the winter setting sun brings out the purity of heaven-given snow that Iruka knows will still pile on higher come January, where then, Konoha will present itself as a blank page to its citizens for merriment, inviting small feet to play and many others to laugh.

Naruto loved the snow as a child. Iruka had taken him ice skating during the Academy winter breaks, had taught him how to do tricks like the toe loop, the flip and the axel. Something Naruto had keenly enjoyed during his very younger years, tumbling several times but never giving up until he nails the trick perfectly.

Tenzou enjoyed winter too. He enjoyed cuddling under the warm blanket of Iruka’s duvet, enjoyed waking up to the frosty edges of their window, peppering kisses all over the curve of Iruka’s shoulders and saying, _look Iruka-sensei, it’s snowing outside_ ~ Iruka has lost count on how many times he’s sat pressed so close to Tenzou, warmed by his arms and presence.

Here, now, Iruka finds himself heartbroken once more, when he should be, in essence, pleased to be home.

Iruka realizes, that he’s never even felt homesick the past six months.

(Grief as they say, really changes you.)

*

Iruka tugs the hood of his cloak off before he steps into the Hokage’s office, announcing his presence and punctuating it with a polite bow by the door that he shuts when Kakashi waves a gloved hand for him to approach and take a seat.

The office is exactly what Iruka remembers it look like six months ago when he received news of his mandatory cross-posting. One wall remains lined with towering dossiers that Iruka swears is the exact same dossiers he had seen all those months ago, untouched, unattended. There is a large pyramid of scrolls of varying size on the opposite end of the wall, next to a filing cabinet that is further piled with more scrolls. Kakashi’s desk is a hot mess of marked documents, stamps, pens and several red folders right next to his hand that he pauses mid-review in. A short glance at the document in front of Kakashi tells Iruka that Kakashi is in the middle of reviewing tedious budget assignments, probably a result of the office’s audit again.

Iruka _almost_ sympathises. For about two heart beats.

Like always, standing before Kakashi comes with a certain disconnect and calm, as all control and measure of decorum comes rising to the surface like impenetrable armour. Iruka’s lips relaxes to a soft line of a polite expression, something open and approachable tugging at the corners of his mouth in a not quite smile. His teacher-face at a parents’ meeting, his friends like to call it. Something he only reserves for a crowd he doesn’t want to show anything in particular, like how he suddenly feels suffocated in the tight space of the Hokage’s office. How he can’t bare to look at the monuments, months later.

(How a part of you cannot bare to still look at Kakashi’s face, all these years, when it isn’t his fault. You don’t hate him for it. You empathize. Of course, you empathize. He is the man Tenzou respects the most after all. But you’re not cart wheeling with utter joy every time you’re to be subjected to his presence. Not really. And with Naruto go, why even bother anymore?)

“How was your journey back?” Kakashi asks, as Iruka adjusts his travel clock, unclasping it and folding it over his lap to take seat on the empty chair opposite Kakashi’s desk.

“Quite uneventful, Hokage-sama, something that I was hoping for.” Iruka politely answers, nodding his head as he takes out a scroll from his travel pack and offers it with both hands outstretched towards Kakashi. “From the Kazekage, Hokage-sama.”

Kakashi takes the scroll, unfurls it and reads its contents. Iruka keeps his gaze on the grain of the wood of Kakashi’s table, waiting as Kakashi reads the contents of the scroll and acknowledge his completion of his cross-posting.

“Well, that about concludes it.” Kakashi signs the scroll, stamps it with his seal and hands it back over to Iruka. “You can provide that to the records team for the necessary updates. They will provide you with your village briefing packet and all other instructions pertaining to your new position. Congratulations, headmaster. The Academy will be happy to have you back when spring term resumes.” Kakashi’s eyes arcs into two crescents, something that makes a flush bloom on Iruka’s cheeks at the new title.

“Thank you for the honor and the opportunity, Hokage-sama,” Iruka says, bowing his head from his seated position. “I am truly grateful.”

And Iruka is, grateful that is, his chest tingling with excitement at the new change of pace, at being able to make certain decisions that he had not been able to do so before, at the prospect of new challenges ahead. He hasn’t felt anything else since the day Tenzou had walked out of his life, further numbed when they put Naruto’s empty coffin in the ground, not even when some of the overly friendly faces in Suna, handsome men and beautiful women, all good people had propositioned him, had tried to start something with the smart, funny, fun Academy teacher from Konoha. The first tendrils of warmth in his chest, barely even a spec in the barren wasteland that had once been his heart, thrums for just a few seconds, sending tingles down Iruka’s fingers, and making a smile, something warm and genuine, for the first time in what feels like forever tug at his lips when he looks up at Kakashi.

Kakashi who is suddenly still, a furrow appearing between his brows, an expression that doesn’t mirror his earlier tone and congratulatory wishes. The smile on Iruka’s face falters, plummeting as his eyebrows slope downwards in a frown of concern, of question.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Kakashi says, slow and soft, as he sighs turning his attention off to the side.

“It’s good to be back, Hokage-sama,” Iruka _lies_ – hideous and so untruthful that it makes him swallow past the sudden dryness in his throat, bitter as bile, his gaze dropping down because no, no it isn’t good to be back. He had been happier in Suna. He liked Suna. He liked the unfamiliarity of it where every turn didn’t have to fucking remind him of the two people he so very dearly loved. Still loves. He loved Suna because Sunagakure made him feel normal, made the yawning numbness in his chest flicker out of existence for just a moment.

Iruka’s hands tightens on his knees, his knuckles going white as he waits and prays for an immediate dismissal already. He wants to leave, he can’t bear the sight of this room, the sight of this man before him right now, when Naruto should be dressed in the Hokage robes, the hat, his face on the mountains beyond Kakashi’s window. But the weight of Kakashi’s gaze remains on him, foreign, studying, heavy in its scrutiny. Iruka hopes Kakashi isn’t going to ask him how he’s doing, not after Iruka’s show of weakness during the funeral, when he had been so overwhelmed and betrayed that he couldn’t quite keep a firm grasp on all of his faculties. He hopes Kakashi doesn’t bring up Naruto, that the weight of Kakashi’s gaze pertains only to his decision about appointing Iruka as headmaster and nothing more. Iruka doesn’t think he’d be able to quite bear conversing about Naruto just yet. It’s too soon. Too early.

(It’s not right, yet, to talk of Naruto like he’s in the past.)

The dismissal doesn’t come; the silence only charges Iruka’s heart with a nervousness that leaves his heart jackhammering under his ribcage.

Unable to sit there any longer, Iruka parts his lips to speak, only to be interrupted by Kakashi saying, “I know you just got back –“

“Hokage-sama—“

They freeze at the same time, both of them looking up at each other and gazes flicking away from each other. Iruka stammers out an apology immediately, apologizing for interrupting Kakashi, dipping his head and grasping at his knees once more, thinking over and over again, _please don’t ask me about Naruto, please, please please—_

“I was going to say that I know you just got back, and you must be exhausted from your journey. And I am ashamed that I have to bring this up now. But I hope for your patience, Iruka, and even moreso, your understanding,” Kakashi says.

Iruka looks up at that, confused, suddenly quite unbothered by the heavy silence that had gawkily settled upon them, an uneasy tension that had only gotten thicker by the minute. Iruka shifts a little uncomfortably on his seat, releasing his fingers from his knee, forcing his hands to relax over the folded travel cloak on his lap, raising his head to meet Kakashi’s imploring gaze once more. “If there is something that I can help you with, Hokage-sama, I will do my best.”

Kakashi looks away, as if ashamed and unable to quite bear the sight of Iruka anymore. It leaves Iruka with a sense of cold dread, spiking upwards from the bottom of his stomach, as he watches Kakashi unlock the drawer beside him and pull out a small sealed envelope. Kakashi hesitates for a moment when he pulls it out, as if the weight in his hand is suddenly to heavy and with muted lips, he holds it out to Iruka, tipping his chin in a silent go-ahead signal.

Iruka takes it in his hand, carefully breaking the seal and pulling out an official rescinded order that dates back to over five years ago, something issued by the Godaime. Iruka frowns and goes very still when he takes note of Tenzou’s official codename on the document.

Suddenly, Iruka cannot breathe. The walls start to compress inwards, leaving him staring there at the words that starts to appear unsteady only for Iruka to realize that it is his hands that are trembling.

Iruka blinks what seems to be the onset of shock. All this time he’s been praying for Kakashi to not ask him about Naruto, when he should have also been praying for Kakashi to not bring up Tenzou as well.

How foolish of Iruka to forget.

“It would seem that I have done you a severe injustice, Iruka, not once but twice,” Kakashi says softly, the words barely above a whisper in the halogen lit office. “Forgive me…”

Iruka opens his mouth to speak, to say _something_ , to respond and acknowledge what’s been dropped verbally and physically on his lap. He stares at the rescinded order, at the fiery red seal of the Rokudaime, and finds himself stammering, “It’s not your fault, Hokage-sama.”

“Is it?” Kakashi mutters so quietly that Iruka almost misses it.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble to rescind an order, Hokage-sama,” Iruka swallows, folding the document in his lap carefully and placing it back into the safe confines of the envelope, forcing his hands hand to rest on his knees once more and hold on to it for dear life, hoping he makes it out of this conversation whole. “Order or not, he chose you.”

“You really knew about it…” Kakashi sounds surprised, like he didn’t expect to hear that from Iruka.

“Of course I did,” Iruka looks up at that, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Hokage-sama, Tenzou and I parted on amicable terms.”

“Iruka, he still _loves_ you,” Kakashi points out. “What kind of a man would I be to deny you that, to deny _him_ that?”

“But he chose _you_ ,” Iruka repeats weakly, swallowing and dropping his gaze, his hands trembling so hard that he _squeezes_ his knees, willing to stop, just stopstopstop. “He chose to be with you, Kakashi-sama. He continued to choose you long after the order was delivered. He is loyal to you. Isn’t that love as well?”

Outside, the cold winter wind blows harshly, rattling the window panes for a brief moment. Iruka holds Kakashi’s gaze, suddenly so very tired, wary of the direction of their conversation. He’s spent too many nights thinking of what-ifs and buts, too long immersed in happier memories of the man who Iruka had willingly given his whole heart to. Now, years later, he remains empty chested, a void sitting in the place of what had once been filled with warmth, and peppered kisses and strong arms. When Iruka had told Tenzou, all those years ago, _I understand_ , it hadn’t been a lie. Nowhere near it. He understands duty, he understands debt and gratitude towards a man one respects the most.

Most of all, he understands that this is a choice Tenzou had already made long before he had disclosed the ‘order’ to Iruka. That the fact that Tenzou is even telling him shows to tell that Tenzou has chosen to be there for Kakashi for the long haul, through thick and thin.

Iruka doesn’t know what kind of love lies between Tenzou and Kakashi but if Tenzou had been willing to give up everything for it, then who is Iruka to even stop him in the first place?

(You didn’t have the strength, not when your heart had shattered to irreparable pieces after that night.)

“Not at the expense of another, Iruka,” Kakashi points out, shaking his head. “Not like _this_.”

“I am well and fine, Hokage-sama,” Iruka says, lips curving upwards in a polite smile. “I have been for many years. If you are worried that I hold you responsible, please don’t. I am glad that he is with you. He spoke highly of you. You are the man he respects the most—“

“Stop it,” Kakashi says, the words coming out in a rushed harsh exhale. Iruka snaps his jaw shut, stopping the flow of what he thinks is the right thing to say. “Do you even have any love for him left, at all?” Iruka opens his mouth to say no, I don’t. But nothing comes out. In a show of stubborn bravery, he shakes his head instead, hoping that the answer will suffice. “You’re a terrible liar...”

(Tenzou used to tell you the same thing.)

Iruka dips his head in shame, burning to the depths of his core, his skin flushing crimson as nausea slams into him at the sudden swell of self disgust he feels for himself.

“Forgive me, Hokage-sama,” Iruka whispers.

“Please wait outside,” Kakashi says, standing up from his chair and turning to face the window.

Iruka stands carefully on softened knees, quietly shuffling his scroll, his envelope, his travel pack and cloak. He leaves quietly, shutting the door behind him with a soft click and like an obedient dog, he stands outside in the hall, waiting for further instructions, his heart still pounding under his ribs.

*

Tenzou appears as soon as the door clicks shut.

Iruka lying had been the breaking point of Tenzou’s patience. IN that moment he is blinded by a five course serving of rage that tasted bitter and yet, oddly enough, extremely satisfying. He wants to grab Kakashi by the shoulders, plant his fist over and over again in the middle of that fucking face, because he deserved it. He deserves it for putting Iruka through all that so needlessly, Iruka who sat there with little to no choice but to have all this garbage dumped on his lap. Iruka, whose hands shook the entire time, who deserves better than this, who deserved the peace and distance and _respect_ for his choices too. Iruka, who if anything, deserves all the good there is in the world jut for being understanding, for being kind and compassionate to everyone else but himself.

An explosion sinks inwards and then outwards, somewhere in the center of Tenzou’s metal framework when he grabs the edge of the Hokage’s desk in an attempt to reign in his spiking temper, to wrestle it downwards to some semblance of control.

The edges of the table cracks, the nails of his gloves _digging_ into the grain of the wood.

“I knew you were capable of being cruel,” Tenzou says, releasing his hold on the table, leaving imprints of his anger on it as he yanks his mask off. “But this is something else. This is beneath you!”

“It’s done,” Kakashi simply states.

“How could you do that to him?” Tenzou _snaps_ , his voice cutting through the veil of thick silence in the room, his syllables resonating within the walls of the office. “Are you satisfied now? Does this please you?”

“I gave you two weeks to make alternative arrangements,” Kakashi says, turning around and facing Tenzou with a walled off look on his face. “You have done nothing. Did you think I wasn’t serious?”

“I was hoping you weren’t!” Tenzou answers, livid, his heart thumping like it’s about to explode from his chest, charged with adrenaline, radiating with heat that flushes his face red with rage.

“Were you, now,” Kakashi murmurs, canting his head to the side, a deceptive slouch in place that does nothing to hide the tension that lines Kakashi’s back and jaw.

“Goddamnit, _yes_! Yes, I was hoping you weren’t serious! What more do you want from me?” Tenzou grits out, his fists coming down on the table with a sharp clap, the force of it leaving being a radiating sting that does nothing to quell the surging anger that has nowhere to go but outwards.

“Pack your shit and leave. You have until tomorrow,” Kakashi callously delivers. “And I’m not asking you as your lover. I’m telling you as your Hokage.”

The order comes like a brutal slap across the face.

It is a splash of brutal, ice cold winter against the raging hell fire of Tenzou’s anger and bitterness. It throws him in a void of silence, everything in him screeching to a grinding halt as he stands, his jaw clenched as he sucks in slow, measuring breaths through his nose. Tenzou blinks and gathers himself, walls going up as quick as the soft calming exhale that leaves his lips. He picks up Cat’s mask on the table and puts it on, taking a polite step back from the Hokage’s desk and bows at the waist, long, deep, and respectful.

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou whispers, the words foreign and heavy at the tip of his tongue before he straightens, watching as Kakashi takes his seat, picks up his pen and opens a folder in front of him.

“Iruka is outside. Do as you please,” Kakashi casually says.

“Of course, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou acknowledges, takes a step back and leaves the office through the door, leaving behind five years of disappointment, of betrayal, like all his effort and time, his sacrifice, had been for nothing.

*

Iruka looks up when the door opens, his breath catching in his throat when Cat steps out. Iruka heard Tenzou’s outburst, heard his voice carry past the door but not Kakashi’s response. He straightens from where he’s standing, adjusting the strap of his travelling bag on his shoulder.

“Are you all right?” Iruka asks, realizing once the words leave his mouth what a fucking stupid question it is. Of course Tenzou isn’t all right. It’s right there in the tension that’s lining the length of his spine, how his neck is pulled taut because he’s grinding his teeth.

“I’ve been ordered to make alternative living arrangements,” Tenzou responds, cool, dull, distant.

“I see,” Iruka says, exhaling softly. “Do you have somewhere to stay for the night?” Tenzou doesn’t respond. Iruka sympathizes. He can understand after all, the feeling of having your world yanked out from under feet, how it leaves you suspended in a vacuum, where the ringing in your ears doesn’t quite fade, not for years, even. He’s been through it five years ago. “If you would like, I have a spare futon at home. Just until you can get back on your feet. I am confident that you’d be able to do so in a short time.”

Tenzou remains silent for a long while before he bows politely, “I am grateful. I am in your care, Iruka-sensei. Please pardon the sudden intrusion.”

Iruka dips his head back politely, maintaining their cordial civility, like they didn’t know each other. Like they didn’t spend years kissing each other, losing each other, like they don’t know what the other tastes like, how they laugh and sound like when they climax, when Iruka has lost count how many times Tenzou has had his cock in his body, how many times he has sighed the syllables of tenzou’s name in the most intimate of ways. Like once upon a time, neither of them had dreamed of forever, so immersed in their own world, the rest of humanity fading into nothingness, when all that had mattered to them was each other.

“My pleasure, ANBU-san.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foods that Iruka tried in Suna if anyone cares; feel free to google/youtube whatever omg I am HANGRY:  
> Machboos  
> Hummus and khubus  
> Tabouleh  
> Mashawi  
> Shai Karak  
> Luqaimat  
> Shai sulaimani
> 
> Also, uh. Yeah. Uh. Idek. I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS AND PTERODACTYL SCREAMS! I LOVE ALL OF YOU! THANK YOU!


	8. viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

There had been a time when coming into Iruka’s apartment would grant Tenzou respite from the wild storm that is the reality that lies beyond the walls of Iruka’s home. There had been a time where Tenzou would wish to be nowhere else but Iruka’s home, tucked in the small, comfortable and warm space of Iruka’s studio, where the walls are painted an egg-shell yellow, the rug under the wooden coffee table extra thick and plush. It looks like Iruka had invested on a nicer carpet this time because he liked to work sitting on the floor. While most of the furniture is new, the paint color different, Iruka’s home remains as homely as what Tenzou remembers from all those years ago. Iruka still gravitated to the things he once had with just minor differences – the yellow walls instead of beige, for example; the plush rug being dark blue instead of the old, faded gray that had seen a few too many washes; the three seater dark gray sofa as opposed to the old two seater maroon sofa; the white drapes as opposed to the older dark blue; the white shelving unit, white headboard and white television stand, as opposed to the metal frame of his old bed, and the dark wooden finish of his old furniture; the kitchen cabinets are white here compared to the old dusky browns.

The one thing that didn’t change is the mismatched collection of differently shaped throw-pillows, all of them arranged on the sofa, the floor and one corner of the living room by the television.

The comfort of the apartment hasn’t change at all. Not one bit. It’s just newer, bigger, with better finishing because that’s what everything is in Konoha after the great war. Iruka’s fridge is still tacked with coupons, cards and fridge magnets that Tenzou knows are gifts from his students during their summer travels with their families. Iruka’s shelving unit is filled with little trinkets, little boxes and a few too many dolphin-shaped paper weights and ornaments; they’re also gifts from his students.

Tenzou remembers how he loved coming home to Iruka’s apartment, remembers how he made love to Iruka so many times on the plush faded rug, listening to his breath hitch, their eyes locked on each other as he pushed into Iruka’s body, how Iruka’s palm had pressed on the side of his face, holding him, murmuring his name, telling him how good he feels and, _gods, how I’ve missed you_.

Now that Tenzou stands on top of it again, his toes are forcibly still and not digging into the fibers, as he remains statuesque in the familiar apartment while Iruka putters about setting his travel bag and cloak aside to air out the stuffy apartment. From beyond the bookshelf that separated the living room from the bedroom, Tenzou watches Iruka throw the window open, letting a gust of winter air in, cold and icy.

It disturbs the thin film of dust that covers the books, the shelves, counter-top and floors. The apartment will need a good wipe down having not been lived in for six months. Something that Tenzou knows Iruka will do anyway, despite how tired he must be from his travels.

“I apologize for the state of the apartment,” Iruka says. “If you’d just give me some time, it’ll be more fit to accommodate a guest—“

“You don’t have to be so formal with me,” Tenzou murmurs softly, the words making Iruka go eerily still, his jaw snapping shut all of a sudden, like he’s been dressed down by the words. It sends a stab of something vicious up Tenzou’s stomach, the heat of the invisible wound radiating up to his chest, where it wraps like clawed fingers around his heart “I’m not a stranger…” Tenzou adds, even softer, barely above a whisper.

Iruka doesn’t say anything to that, his arms wrapping around his middle briefly in a show of vulnerability for just a few seconds, before he seems to catch himself, straightening immediately, meeting Tenzou’s gaze with a show of polite and uncowed bravado, his shoulders straight. The exact same way he would with any other shinobi of Konoha who pulls title and rank on Iruka just because he is a chuunin. That, more than anything, is salt to Tenzou wounds that all this time, has never truly healed.

(But you deserve it. You did leave him, after all.)

“It’s not my intention to offend…”Iruka gently says, not at all unkind in anyway. The six worded phrase probably had more empathy than Tenzou deserved.

But the formality of the response makes Tenzou swallow past the lump in his throat all the same. Then again, why should he surprised? They spent five years acting like virtual strangers, perhaps polite acquaintances at best. Five years they’ve kept their gazes away from each other, tucked under the shadows lest the yearning all comes rising to the surface. It had been a security measure, not looking at each other, that is. That sometimes, acting like strangers to someone you so, so, very dearly love is the easiest thing to do when your hands are tied. When you _understand_ the value of duty.

Iruka always understood duty. Tenzou would go as far in saying that perhaps Iruka is one of the best when it comes to understanding duty.

It didn’t make it hurt any less, however, standing there and watching Iruka trying to put up walls of sand around him, his hands moving fast as he turns towards the kitchen sink, taking out the cleaning supplies to distract himself, to keep his hands busy, to keep building that defensive wall around his heart that so very clearly can no longer stand erect when Tenzou stands so close within the confined space of the apartment.

“Please let me help you,” Tenzou says, the whisper-soft words putting a hold to the clatter of Iruka taking his cleaning his supplies out.

“Thank you,” Iruka says and without meeting Tenzou’s eyes, hands him an empty bucket, a rag and some cleaning supplies.

*

They spend the next two hours making the apartment habitable, chasing out dust and getting in between the furniture crevices. Iruka handles the kitchen and bathroom, refusing to have Tenzou brush down the tiles, leaving him to do something a little easier like dust sweeping and mopping instead.

By the end of it, the apartment is left clean and dust free, the hum of the heater filling the space with warmth and diluting the strong smell of bleach, disinfectant and furniture polish.

Iruka takes out the futon, pushing his bed against the far wall to make more space on the floor where he sets it out for Tenzou. He hands a stack of clean clothes, towels and pair of socks for Tenzou to keep warm. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’m going to go pick up some dinner. You can have the first bath or shower, if you wish.”

Tenzou is left standing there, staring at the clean folded clothes and towels in his arms, his throat as dry as sandpaper. He looks up to watch Iruka tug on a jacket, slipping into his boots to fetch said dinner, once more reminded of how natural and not at all new this is. Once upon time, Iruka had gone rushing like this to get something to eat, usually when Tenzou shows up at his doorstep unannounced, having just arrived from a mission. Tenzou has lost count how many times Iruka has fussed about and accommodated his very sporadic schedule and arrivals, that it’s not lost on him that about five years later, Iruka is still doing just that.

When he shouldn’t anymore.

Iruka has no obligation to take of him at all.

Because I left you. I left you without looking back, I abandoned you and yet you’re doing everything to take care of me -- gods, did I even ever fucking deserve you in the first place?

The door clicks shut, leaving Tenzou standing there in the familiar but not so similar apartment. It’s quieter here, too, the road downstairs not disturbed by a rickshaw station and a bustling bakery. Iruka’s older apartment had been tucked into one of the busiest if not crowdie districts of Konoha. Tenzou would make love to Iruka on his bed with the neon lights of the streets filtering through the window, bathing Iruka in colors of the rainbow. 

Standing there now, Tenzou wonders where did the strength in him even come from to walk way from all this.

*

And then he remembers, as the hot water washes over him, swirling soap that smells of fresh oranges down the drain, that the strength had been his loyalty.

To Konoha. To Kakashi.

His strength had been his years of Root training, his programming. Danzou had been right. Root does produce the most effective and loyal of soldiers.

*

They eat a quiet dinner together, with the television filling the space of their silence. 

And when dinner concludes, Iruka brews some wild thyme tea that he sweetens with just a little bit of honey. Iruka hands Tenzou a mug, the aroma warming Tenzou’s senses as he sits there on one side of the three seater sofa while Iruka seats himself on the floor, a polite adjacent distance from Tenzou, both of their eyes trained on the television set that is now playing a game show re-run.

Tenzou doesn’t know how long he sits there for, how long he keeps twisting and turning the thoughts of just how is he going to fix this damn mess of a situation he’s in. He’s going to have to start apartment hunting first thing in the morning, rush the lease signing procedure, throw in extra payment if he has to just so that he can pack his things from the Hokage manor and move by the twenty-four-hour mark. There hadn’t been a need to buy any belongings like furniture or appliances because living with Kakashi at the manor came with it all. Tenzou is going to have to look into all that too. If he can secure a space, he can move his belongings in and figure out the furnishing at a later date.

Tenzou doesn’t know how long he’s been staring blindingly at the television. He only sinks back to the present when the television goes off all of a sudden and he is blinking in question at Iruka.

Iruka who looks at him with all the understanding there is in the world. An understanding that someone like Tenzou, quite frankly, doesn’t deserve.

The mug of tea in his hand remains untouched, icy cold now. Tenzou sucks in a slow, measured deep breath, brings the mug to his lips and empties it in one long swig. It tastes bittersweet as it slithers down his throat, the flavor like ash on his tongue that he ignores when he carefully sets the mug back on the small tray on the table.

“Hokage-sama just needs time,” Iruka says, the words gentle. “Give him some time, Tenzou. I know it hurts and I’m sorry you have to go through this. But he’ll come back to you.”

Tenzou looks up at Iruka at that, and thinks no, no Kakashi won’t. Not this time. Not after he’s done this. “I don’t think he will…”

“You have very little faith in the man you love, then.” Iruka drops his gaze away from Tenzou as he takes the tray from the table and gets up to put it away in the kitchen, leaving Tenzou to watch him mutely.

*

In the dark confines of the room that is only disturbed by the moonlight pouring through the parted drapes, Tenzou lies on the spare futon on his back, ready to snap up at a second’s notice, unable to relax. From the bed, Iruka is curled on to his side, his back to Tenzou, longer hair splayed on the pillow. Tenzou allows himself a moment of weakness in the dark, sucking lungful of breath after lungful of breath that smells of wonderful summer oranges and the warmth of cinnamon, something he doesn’t realize how much he has truly yearned for up until this very moment.

He finds himself being grounded, like his back is flat on the earth, the fresh heady scent uplifting his spirits in the small space. Iruka’s clothes, the biggest pair of pants and shirt Iruka owns, smell like him too, the familiar brand of detergent and fabric softener hugging Tenzou’s body as if they were Iruka’s arms, cocooning Tenzou in warmth that comforts him in ways Kakashi’s home and maybe even his arms had never been able to.

Iruka is so close to Tenzou that he can smell his hair.

Yet lying there, nothing more than feet away from the small double bed, Tenzou has never felt farther from Iruka than that moment.

They used to fall asleep spooned against each other. Tenzou used to love falling asleep with his nose in Iruka’s scalp, his body lulled to unconsciousness by the smell of Iruka’s shampoo and the brush of silk on his cheek. Tenzou used to sleep with his arms around Iruka, Iruka’s fingers laced against his, something Iruka would hold close to his own chest, their feet tangled in the covers as they remain like that until dawn peeks over the horizon.

Now, despite the distance between them, it’s like they’re on opposite sides of the continent.

Something about that makes Tenzou’s chest twinge in a pain that makes him visibly flinch in the shadows.

He turns to his side, tucking his expression away, giving Iruka his back as he stares at the wall and closes his eyes, trying to catch some sleep that he knows will evade him.

“How did Hokage-sama find out?” Iruka suddenly asks, his voice ever so soft.

“Naruto’s funeral,” Tenzou says quietly, closing his eyes. “I saw you leave all of a sudden and I…” Tenzou’s words trail off. “I slipped when I saw you leave. He must have picked up on that.”

“I see,” Iruka mutters, the words muffled by the blanket that he has tugged up to over his nose. “I’m sorry.”

Tenzou stiffens at that, eyes going wide at the wall in front of him. “It’s not your fault. My weakness is not your fault but my own. Please do not ever apologize to me for mourning for a boy that you loved like a son.”

Iruka is quiet for a while. “He’s made me headmaster. There’s an exchange program currently ongoing with Sunagakure where—“

Tenzou closes his eyes, smiling bitterly when he already knows what Iruka is thinking. It makes bile rise to his throat, as he cuts off Iruka and says, “He’s not going to let you go. Not so soon.”

“You won’t know unless I try. I think you and Hokage-sama simply need talk,” Iruka responds, quite firm and steadfast. “I liked Suna. I enjoyed being there, away from here. I didn’t want to come back at all.”

The words are peppered with shame, a tremble in their admission that makes Tenzou turn to lie on his back slowly, looking at Iruka’s figure on the bed, like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Iruka…”

“You say it’s your weakness that ruined your relationship with the man you so dearly love. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be compromised if I weren’t around to begin with. Let me try to speak with the Hokage. Maybe he’ll see reason when I explain to him—“

Tenzou is on his knees, turning Iruka around to lie on his back, leaning over him and pressing him down by the shoulders. Their breaths are warm, and hot, and gods, Iruka looks the same, just as ever so beautiful, if not more. Time has aged him well. Time in Sunagakure has made him stronger too, brushing his skin in even more gold. Iruka isn’t carved sharp with obvious grief, not like that time during the funeral all those months ago. Tenzou finds his lips parting in a wondrous inhale of awe, as he looks down at the man that can still make him so very weak. Up close, the specs of gold in the depths of Iruka’s eyes still doesn’t fail to make Tenzou’s stomach swoop inwards. The flush of Iruka’s lips, how he must have been chewing on them as he debated on asking his questions earlier, plumps it, makes Tenzou stare down at it as his throat constrict, need, and years of want and years of separation, and gods, how did he ever let this go? _How_?

“He ordered me to go to you,” Tenzou whispers, watching as Iruka’s eyes widens at the weight and meaning of those words. “He’s not going to change his mind Iruka. Not this time.”

Iruka remains still, unmoving, his breath hitched somewhere in his throat as he swallows. Tenzou supposes that he should feel a little better that he isn’t the only one who is unable to look away. That Iruka’s gaze sweeps over the sharp line of his own jaw, at Tenzou’s lips before coming back to hold his gaze. “I know you follow orders well. But I don’t you to follow this order. I don’t want you to come to me just because you’re told to do so by your Hokage. Please let go.” Tenzou retracts his hands, slowly sinking back to his knees, fists coming to rest on his lap as Iruka shifts and pushes himself a little further against the wall, sitting up and tugging the covers over his knees.

“And if I wasn’t told to do so?” Tenzou asks, unable to bear not knowing,

“You wouldn’t be here,” Iruka answers, a small deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “You chose Kakashi, remember? Isn’t that the reason that you’re so upset? That he kicked you out of the relationship? That your love for him means nothing to him after all this time?”

“That doesn’t mean I never stopped loving you,” Tenzou swallows, watching Iruka’s eyes widen even further, watching Iruka go so very still, pressing against the wooden headboard, like he’s trying to back away from Tenzou, like he wants to put more distance between them but is physically limited. An ache goes through Tenzou that he can do nothing but take, take and take, watching Iruka’s shoulders hunch. “That I never stopped missing you. Or wanting you. I am to blame for all this. Not Kakashi. And certainly not you. Never you. I’m just sorry that I have to put you through this again…”

Iruka nods slowly, his chin touching his chest as he nods and murmurs, “I understand.”

“Do you?” Tenzou asks, the words almost lost in the dark and the spill of moonlight. “Do you, truly, Iruka?”

“I do,” Iruka murmurs. “I stand by my earlier statement. I don’t care if the Hokage ordered you to be with me. I don’t want you. I will not allow myself to be vulnerable with you, to _be_ with you again, only to keep looking over my shoulder for an order to be rescinded at any given time. I can’t and I _won’t_. I am not that strong, Tenzou. So with all due respect, but you and Kakashi can shove that fucking order up your asses. You two figure it out. Keep me out of it. You can go ahead and say exactly that to the Hokage for all I care.”

Tenzou dips his head in understanding, his vision _burning_ as swallows the tremble, the shame that goes through him, the idea that he put Iruka through so, so much, that he had taken what open show of trust Iruka had for him and spat at it like it had no value. Love Iruka, did he? Miss Iruka, did he? Well a lot of good that had been when Iruka can’t even bear to look at him now, can’t even dare grasp the opportunity and chance at being with Tenzou again when he’s too afraid to be burned. When there’s nothing much to burn anymore, is there? Not when Iruka already liked being away from Konoha, his home, not when Iruka is one if not the most patriotic and loyal man there is serving the village.

Tenzou did this. He did this to Iruka.

It’s only right Iruka wouldn’t want him back. It’s only right Iruka would spit on the command that had no business being a command in the first place.

Tenzou nods, ashamed, as the reality that Iruka doesn’t want him, just doesn’t want him the way Kakashi doesn’t want him, sinks to the softest parts of him, his trembling hands balling to tight fists once as he closes his eyes to clear the heated blur away. The only difference between Kakashi and Iruka is that Iruka is a little kinder. When Iruka, more than Kakashi, had every right to kick Tenzou out to the fucking winter streets. But Iruka won’t. Not when he so clearly loves Tenzou too.

And maybe, that’s what hurts the most. That Iruka loves him, has never stopped loving him, never stopped missing him, wanting him, all these years but has decided, to protect himself, that he doesn’t want Tenzou. Not anymore.

“I understand…”

(Of course he does. How can he _not_?)

*

Tenzou leases the first apartment he finds, uncaring of how small it is or where it’s located. It’s far enough from the Hokage manor and far enough from Iruka’s current apartment. Tenzou knows it’s naïve to think that just because his apartment is far from the two people who no longer wanted him, he would no longer bump in to them. It’s not going to be that way with Kakashi. Not when Tenzou is his right hand, his head of ANBU and the person responsible for Kakashi’s security detail. But Tenzou can work around that. He can function around Kakashi just fine, despite their current predicament.

That part isn’t difficult.

Tenzou is proven right when he packs his belongings later that afternoon from the empty manor. He is not attached to anything in the manor, not even their bed that remains unmade because well, Tenzou is the one who always make the bed in the mornings.

Leaving Kakashi and manor, surprisingly, proves to be easy.

Tenzou thinks its because Kakashi has made it clear how he didn’t want Tenzou’s presence keeping him upright anymore. It’s a clear and precise understanding and if there’s anything between him and Kakashi that remains true despite all this mess, it’s the fact that they have an unshakeable understanding, no matter the circumstances.

Nothing changes between them when Tenzou returns to his post the next day. It’s as if Kakashi didn’t just shove Tenzou’s five-year commitment to his face like it had been worthless.

“Found a place?” Kakashi asks, late in the evening when Tenzou sets down the take out boxes on his table.

“Yes,” Tenzou answers. “It’ll do.”

“Good.” Kakashi signs the document in front of him and closes the folder, setting his pen down. “Ah, Haru’s nasu dengaku~?”

“Yes, senpai,” Tenzou huffs bemusedly, shaking his head as he pushes Cat’s mask up to the side of his head, unpacking the dinner they are to share.

*

Tenzou removes himself from Iruka’s life as if his presence for that one night had been nothing but a dream.

He puts effort in being hyper-aware of his surroundings when he is in public, actively avoiding all the places he knows Iruka would frequent, taking different routes from the usual roads he knows Iruka would take. It becomes so ingrained in him, avoiding Iruka, that is, that winter segues into spring and then into early summer.

Things between him and Kakashi return to what it had been, all those years ago, when Kakashi had given Tenzou his utmost respect and remained a close comrade and friend. They share meals, they spar, they talk, sometimes they share a drink. They do not, however, fuck anymore.

It’s something Tenzou finds he doesn’t quite miss.

*

It goes so well that Tenzou almost forgets that night in Iruka’s apartment.

Almost.

Until one day, as he unpacks dinner in the Hokage’s office, Kakashi pointedly asks him, “How’s Iruka?”

And just like that, the memory of that night all those weeks ago comes slamming into Tenzou like a tidal wave.

“Well,” Tenzou responds, his hands not pausing as he unpacks the containers from the bag, his subconscious demanding reparations because how would he have any right to know how Iruka is? When Iruka had wanted peace and to be left alone, to be kept away from the thing that ruined him, safe distance from Kakashi and Tenzou only to be unceremoniously tossed into the middle of all of it with a command to boot. The bile that rises to the back of Tenzou’s throat is bitter, as he swallows past it and uncaps the bottle of warm tea, bringing it to his lips to take a long swig because this is not a conversation he wants, nor is he prepared to have.

“Tenzou…” Kakashi says, the syllables of Tenzou’s name an open ended question.

“I wouldn’t know, senpai. You had a meeting with him today. You tell me.” Tenzou sits down, ripping the wrapper of the disposable chopsticks and popping the lid of his take out container open.

“Did you even try at all?” Kakashi sounds disappointed, almost upset.

“With all due respect, you and Kakashi can shove that fucking order up your asses. You two figure it out. Keep me out of it,” Tenzou repeats in verbatim. “Those are Iruka’s _exact_ words. I think you and I have it figured out. And he is kept out of it. I’d appreciate it, Hokage-sama _,_ if it stays that way.”

“You told him…” Kakashi murmurs, unpacking his own bento, snapping the disposable chopsticks into two. “You know, a part of me wonders why you couldn’t have told me about the order all those years ago. When you’re capable of being honest with your lovers. You clearly are with Iruka.”

“It was a conscious decision made on the information I had,” Tenzou candidly responds, not at all bitter, but merely stating facts. “You wouldn’t have appreciated it. Not back then, I think. You lost your team, Sandaime was dead, Akatsuki was at large, our village was attacked, you wouldn’t – you wouldn’t have taken to it kindly. My commitment to you would have come across as pity. And you don’t _do_ commitments. That being said, it doesn’t excuse the fact that I should have told you at some point. Even after the war. And for that, I do apologize, senpai. I should have been more forthcoming.”

“But you weren’t.” Kakashi takes a mouthful of his meal.

“I guess I didn’t see the point anymore. We were comfortable together, weren’t we?” Tenzou asks, taking a bit of the salad into his mouth.

“We were,” Kakashi agrees. “I probably would have kicked you out anyway, if you told me. I don’t hate you for the decision you made. But I am disappointed, to some degree, that you still chose to be with me when you so very clearly love someone else. A lot of people have sacrificed their lives for me, Tenzou. I really do not need you to add that list.”

“I’m not dead,” Tenzou points out, a little callously.

“Are you?” Kakashi asks, looking up from his bowl, his dark stormy gaze piercing and heavy.

Kakashi, after all, knows more than anyone that love is a quiet emotion that ni time, becomes part of the air you need to breathe, and so though you may feel quite unsure that it’s even there, that any form of removal and the emotions begin to choke. Kakashi knows love because he’s felt it for years since he was younger, when he had knelt by body of the White Fang, trying hard to push his intestines and stomach back into place and hoping it’d help his father breathe if he can just fix it again. He knows love because the moment Rin’s lungs had stopped working with Kakashi’s fist through her chest, he choked. He knows love because when he couldn’t push or lift that rock off Obito, he had choked, too. He choked when he carried Naruto’s body home. He choked when he had seen Sasuke’s name on the bingo book. He choked when Sakura told him she’s mentoring with Tsunade.

He choked when he picked up Gai’s broken body after the war, when Gai had gone so eerily quiet with acceptance that he may not ever stand or spar the way he used to.

He choked on the day news of Naruto’s death reached him.

Chokes every time one of his people comes back dead, when another name gets added to the cenotaph.

He choked when he came home to the manor that night, to find all traces of Tenzou gone from the manor.

He choked when Tenzou _burned_ for someone else but never quite for him. Not even after five years. When Tenzou blazed into something so beautiful, so wondrous and _alive_ but it hadn’t been for him. Not at all.

So Kakashi knows love.

He’s loved so many in all the years he’s been alive.

(Sometimes, he envies Tenzou. Envies his ability to just compartmentalize and carry forward. Sometimes, a part of him, when he looks at Tenzou, wishes he had been Root instead. That maybe if he had been trained by Danzou, his chest wouldn’t feel like it’s being ripped every time someone gives up something of theirs for his sake.)

For he too, had hoped naively that Tenzou would stay by his side for however long he’s had left. That my breath be linked to yours, that meeting you had been fate, being your friend a choice and that falling in love with you was bound to happen, when you are the one who kept me shielded, when you, like Gai, are one of the few who defends me from the brutality of our existence. I’d die a thousand times for you, and I know you would do the same for me. But I am not the chest you want to lean your head on, it is not my voice whispering your name that you wish to hear. It is not my hand you wish to hold and draw lines in the sky with. I am not your love, no matter what you say. I am not your will of fire but simply your comrade, your brother, perhaps your family, a part of you, yes, something that I will treasure and protect. You say your committed to me – that’s a lie. You’ve been committed to another this entire time. You always have been.

You just don’t see it because how could you when your first love is clearly the love of your life?

You wouldn’t know any better, would you?

And I understand. Of course I understand. All I’ve wanted for you is to be happy. To keep you happy. For what little time we have left.

You haven’t taken a single, proper breath, even when you were with me.

“He doesn’t want me, senpai,” Tenzou says softly, a knit appearing before his eyebrows, long lashes fluttering with a few blinks as if Tenzou is clearing something from gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with what looks like great difficulty. “I have to respect that. And so do you.”

Kakashi goes quiet, every part of him twisting into something ugly at the ugly picture one of the strongest men he knows is painting before him. In that moment, in the quiet air conditioned space of the Hokage office, Tenzou looks defeated, the slump of his shoulders obvious, rounded, something glistening around the corners of his eyes that remains visible to anyone who knows him well for just a few heart beats before he chases it away, schooling it under a neutral expression. But Kakashi knows where to look, knows that Iruka is Tenzou’s one hot red button, that just mentioning Iruka know, Kakashi has slammed down on that button so hard that it delivers a devastating blow to Tenzou’s defensive barriers.

Tenzou eats like he isn’t bothered, the flow of his movements natural, undisturbed, placid even.

But the sorrow in his eyes, that Kakashi can see as clear as day. After all, he’s one of the two people in existence that knows how to read Tenzou well.

*

Tenzou’s effort to stay away from Iruka goes to shit and hell in a hand basket when one day, in the sweltering heat of summer, the Hokage’s office erupts into chaos when Naruto suddenly appears, looking haggard, battle worn, his orange jumpsuit torn and tattered in places and looking confused and panicked as hell.

Tenzou has Naruto pinned to the ground, slapping a chakra seal on the back of his neck, putting up a barrier before Naruto can even take one step further into the office. He kicks Naruto from the back of his legs, forcing him to kneel on the floor in front of Kakashi’s towering and menacing figure, keeping him down and prisoner by grasping the back of Naruto’s skull and hair.

“Move and you're dead,” Tenzou warns, his clawed gloves sinking in firm warning into Naruto’s skull.

“Ne, taichou, is this the way you greet all your teammates after they’ve just come back from a mission?” Naruto gripes, wincing and squawking when the rest of the ANBU surround him, the entire office thrown into high alert. “Ow-ow-ow-ow! Hey! Oh come on! What is the big deal? It’s me! Does this have something to do with why the village looks different and why the dates are all weird? I’ve been gone two weeks what the hell – taichou, _ow_!”

Kakashi grabs Naruto by the chin, holding him in place, slaps two fingers on his forehead before blue eyes roll back and Naruto slumps like dead weight.

*

They question Naruto for hours in the basement of the torture and interrogation building. Naruto says he’s been shoved into what his enemy calls the Mirror Dimension, that to him, he’s been stuck in a loophole of what he understands to be compressed time, because Naruto’s reality has only lasted two weeks when the rest of the world had continued to spin for nearly two years. That the only reason Naruto had broken free of the dimension is because he managed to defeat the defected Sky-nin, despite the very challenging bloodline limit.

The stick that breaks the camel’s back is Kurama’s appearance.

The sight of the nine tails, the realness of the monster’s presence is what makes Tenzou’s knees weaken, makes him sink to the ground as he looks up at the grinning fox and Naruto’s pouting face, because, well shit.

Naruto’s alive.

They would have to announce it to the village, re-integrate him into society. They will have to inform team seven, Naruto’s friends. They would have to tell Iruka.

*

Iruka who is summoned to the Hokage’s office, one afternoon once all the questioning and interrogation has been concluded. Iruka, who steps in, dressed in his dark blue robes, looking puzzled for a moment only to freeze at the sight of Naruto sitting and pouting all puffy cheeked on one the chairs in front of the Hokage’s table.

Iruka who remains mute as Kakashi and Naruto explains the situation. Who continues to lose color from his face as he stares at Naruto like he’s seeing a ghost, like he can’t believe what’s going on in front of him. Kakashi removes himself from the room, giving Naruto and Iruka a moment of privacy.

“Iruka-sensei,” Naruto’s tone is soft, kind, understanding, filled with compassion as he rubs the back of his head. “I’m sorry I’m late…”

Iruka who simply nods, blinking rapidly at the film of salt in his eyes. “Did you beat your opponent?”

“I did,” Naruto nods, chewing on his lower lip, worry and guilt tugging at his young, handsome features.

“Good,” Iruka whispers, his voice thick with emotion, his chest thundering with a storm he can’t even begin to control, his chest failing to suck in breaths as shock gives way to grief and then to happiness because oh gods. _Oh gods_ , he’s alive. “T-That’s really good, Naruto… it’s so, _so_ good to see you again…”

Naruto smiles, something small and vulnerable and almost a little ashamed, before he steps forward and wraps his arms around Iruka’s middle, pressing his forehead to Iruka’s shoulder and squeezing as hard as he can, not letting go of Iruka’s rigid and frozen form, even long after Iruka remembers to wrap his arms around Naruto’s dusty and battle worn frame.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mirror Dimension title taken from Dr. Strange because I'm shit. 
> 
> I wanted to update sooner by IRL. Eh.
> 
> Guys, seriously, thank you for all your comments and support and coming back to this fic. I really, really do appreciate all of you!


	9. ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

For what feels like forever, Iruka had began to see the world through a distant haze. The sky had ceased to be filled with wonders, endless blue of possibilities; it no longer seemed limitless. Spring and summer comes and with it the chirping of birds no longer music to his ears, when normally, the first appearance of green after having months of snow would leave him alleviated, excited in the little things, like sakura mochi or hanami dango, seasonal things that he would indulge in, things he would spend the rest of the year waiting for.

But then Iruka’s world had gone bleak after Tenzou and then pitch black after Naruto. A lot of things he had enjoyed had started to taste ashy.

Now, with Naruto in his arms, whole, real and alive, Naruto who babbles at him that he has to go find Sakura, and Sai and the rest of the team and oh no, my apartment, ahhh, I hope they didn’t throw away all my stuff, ah, Iruka-sensei, what am I going to do? Do you think my bank account is still okay?

Iruka who simply takes all this with practiced patience he has no idea where it comes from, when he tells Naruto to calm down, to go see his friends first and if no one offers a place stay, he has a futon in his place always ready for him should Naruto choose it.

Naruto who flushes and grins like he’s five years old again and says, “Just like old times, ne Iruka-sensei?”

And Iruka is suddenly weak and utterly powerless to do anything else but nod, a tremble going through him, shakily saying his goodbye and handing Naruto his spare apartment key, for whenever he may need it. Naruto who tells him he’s the best, that he can’t wait to tell Iruka all the details of the battle he had to face, about the Mirror Dimension over ramen. Naruto who is a grown young man but still bumbles like he’s a genin, like he’s Iruka’s little boy even though he is easily half a head taller than Iruka now.

Iruka is left standing there, staring out at the Hokage monuments, not quite sure what to do with himself, when there’s no ground under his feet.

Kakashi’s voice is kind and patient when he says, “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, ne, Iruka? It’s been a challenging day for us all. In the best way, of course...”

“He really is back, isn’t he?” Iruka murmurs, looking up and finding something that looks like understanding, perhaps relief and maybe even joy reflecting in the stormy gray irises of Kakashi’s gaze.

“He is,” Kakashi says, whisper soft as he reaches forward to press a hand on Iruka’s shoulder.

Because if there is anyone who’d understand how Iruka currently felt, it’d be Kakashi.

He had wanted to fall to his knees the moment he had seen Kurama’s form. He had wanted to _breathe_ and _weep_ like a child at that exact moment because that’s one precious sacrifice tally off his book. But he stood there, rooted and not quite able to smile, not quite able to laugh, or shout, or express much of anything as the seconds turned to minutes and Naruto proceeded to complain about when all the procedural questioning can be over and done with.

Tenzou had been as silent as a shadow, watching Naruto with an unreadable gaze from behind a porcelain mask.

Kakashi understands Iruka. Iruka who like him, loved Naruto too. Maybe more than him because Iruka’s bond with Naruto is the strongest there is.

Kakashi can only imagine where Iruka must get the strength to remain on his feet, facing his village leader, a sheen of salt reflecting over his eyes and swallowing down the tremble that has nowhere to go but down, all the way down.

Tenzou should be standing in Kakashi’s place. He should have his arms around Iruka, holding him tight, telling him its okay to mourn and rejoice at the same time because Naruto is back. It shouldn’t be Kakashi standing there in that moment, giving Iruka’s shoulder a squeeze, as if the gesture would keep him from falling apart.

“Thank you for informing me, Hokage-sama,” Iruka says, his voice as thick as gravel, the tenors not quite steady as he straightens and bows politely. “I am truly grateful. Thank you for letting me know first…”

Kakashi helplessly stands there, his insides twisting at the formality of it all, at how Iruka can thank him like this when he had been the one responsible for sending Naruto out on that assignment in the first place. Iruka who remains gracious, when his grief-joy drips down to the floor like fallen diamonds, his shoulders quaking despite the tension that lines the length of his bowed back.

Iruka stumbles out an excuse, begging for forgiveness for his lack of control, as if Kakashi would fault him for being so emotional, as if Kakashi is cruel to penalize him for loving the boy like his son.

Kakashi can only murmur a weak acquiesce, granting Iruka a formal response to his request to be dismissed, watching as Iruka straightens and disappears in a puff of chakra smoke without fully raising his face to Kakashi. Iruka should have never been alone when they buried Naruto.

He shouldn’t be alone now when two realities are trying to realign itself either.

“Tenzou,” Kakashi says, turning over his shoulder, not surprised to find Tenzou already there, standing in the corner of the room, a mute sentinel. Kakashi didn’t need to elaborate. “Go.”

Tenzou steps back and disappears into the wall, leaving Kakashi to suck in a shaky breath as he looks out at the monuments, his gaze lingering on the Fourth’s face and hopes things will be okay now.

*

Iruka had gone home.

He sits himself like a blind man on the sofa, staring unseeingly at a point in the wall, the storm of confusion, of grief, the mourning that just never leaves him since the that false funeral, and now this new truth bomb that had frankly come out of nowhere swirling into one chemical mess that bubbles and fizzes somewhere in his chest, ready to explode like a bad chemical reaction.

But that’s Naruto for you. He’s the number one most shocking and most surprising ninja.

A noise tears past Iruka’s throat at that thought, as he brings the back of his hand to his mouth, to silence the strangled mess from breaking out of the prison of his mouth any further. He presses the bottom of his palm against his lips, forcibly muting himself as he scrunches his eyes shut and _breathes_ through the pressure building around his nose. His chest heaves, in and out, like he’s in the midst of a panic attack, his shoulder quaking at the sheer force of it that he is no longer able to suppress.

Iruka _sobs_ a sudden inhale, when a sharp knock cuts through the silence of his apartment. Iruka almost jumps in his seat, as his head whips to the direction of the door, his hands quickly swiping at his face, wiping away at the tear tracks, rubbing at his eyes roughly as if the gesture would eliminate all traces of his tears, before he opens and closes his jaw a few times, shaking away the shock. Iruka takes a calming, shuddering breath and answers the door, pulling it open with a smile firmly in place, ready to deal with whoever is on the other side swiftly and quickly so that he can be left alone as soon as possible.

Only for it to come crashing to the ground at the sight of the familiar porcelain mask.

A mask that a gloved hand reaches up to pull away, and with it the obscurity of the hooded cloak, revealing Tenzou’s face who looks at him with an understanding expression, patient and kind, something that leaves Iruka’s fingers trembling in its grip on the door knob. He looks up at Tenzou who opens his mouth to say something but then closes it, swallows it instead, whatever it is, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it.

Iruka can see it, how Tenzou’s presence screams how he didn’t think Iruka should be alone right now. Iruka can read the warring guilt and love, clashing like blades in the dark, buried in the depths of Tenzou’s eyes that he casts to the ground, his lips parting for a calming breath before he looks up at Iruka again, a pinch between his brows. Iruka selfishly wants to close the gap between them, to fall into Tenzou’s arms and be held just once, just one more time, maybe for old time’s sake, because if there’s anyone in the world who has always left him feeling secure, it had been Tenzou.

(Until one day, he didn’t. Not anymore.)

Iruka opens his mouth and says, “I’m okay,” and smiles, his lips trembling with the motion, as his eyes traitorously waters, tears collecting around the corners of his eyes. Iruka curses under his breath, turning his head away and shaking it, as if the gesture would clear his thoughts, would stop the flood of tears.

It doesn’t.

Iruka shakes when he stands there, repeatedly telling Tenzou I’m okay, I’m okay, really, his hands covering his face as he burns with the shame of coming apart like this, right at his doorway.

And Tenzou can only tug his gloves and arm guard free, letting it fall on the floor in a loud, uncaring clatter, an ache like no other going through him, rendering him weak in the knees, pinching and suffocating something in his chest as Iruka comes apart before him, when he’s remained straight backed and so strong through everything. Iruka who crumples like chakra paper, the words coming out all wrong, all garbled past his lips as he takes one step back, quickly giving Tenzou his back, hiding his grief and relief and shock from eyes that see everything.

Tenzou shuts the door behind him, side stepping and coming around to cup Iruka’s face with his hands, swiping the tears away with his thumbs as he stares at the face of the man he’s left behind and only ever loved and gently says, “You’re okay.” Tenzou nods with statement, as a _sob_ breaks free from Iruka’s mouth, his trembling hands holding on to Tenzou’s forearms, like Tenzou is the only anchor there is in the storm of his grief and relief. “You’re okay. I got you,” Tenzou says, nodding and ever so gently, pulls Iruka towards him, tucking his face away from the world into the safety and warmth of his neck, one hand pressing on the back of Iruka’s skull. “I got you…”

Iruka weeps as Tenzou closes his eyes, pressing his face into the softness of Iruka’s hair, inhaling deeply as he holds Iruka impossibly tight, trying to keep him from breaking apart, hoping, just this once, that his arms would remain steady and not let go. Not yet.

Because this is more than crying. This is a kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person that’s been drained of all hope, leaving them barren and empty only to inject them with adrenaline and sunshine all of a sudden. Tenzou remains upright even as Iruka’s knees fail him, not caring that they sink to the small space beyond the genkan, his arms remaining hopefully steady as the heat from Iruka’s sobs _burns_ against his neck, scorching his skin that leaves Tenzou breathless, weakened, like he’s been wounded in battle. The pain that flows from Iruka is palpable like this, sobs shaking Iruka’s entire frame as he curls into a small ball against Tenzou’s chest, tears soaking through the singlet.

And through it all, Tenzou doesn’t know if he can let go anymore. He should have never left Iruka’s side at all. He should have never not chosen him. He should have remained, just like how his heart had told him to remain. How is he ever going to step away after holding him like this? Tenzou isn’t even sure if he’d have the strength to step out the house.

If ever.

*

By the end of it, Tenzou and Iruka are seated on the carpet, with Tenzou’s back leaning against the sofa, Iruka still in his arms, his eyes closed, tear tracks drying on his cheeks, his pristine high collared robes crumpled and utterly disheveled. Iruka’s forehead protector gleams on the center table, the metal shining gold in the flood of sunset permeating through the window of Iruka’s apartment. Iruka had gone quiet an hour ago, eerily still in Tenzou’s arms, his eyes closed, breath steady that Tenzou had wondered if he had fallen asleep from the emotional exhaustion.

But Iruka would suck in shaky, staggered breaths, his fingers still on Tenzou’s lower abdomen, his cheek pressed on Tenzou’s chest, like they’ve never been apart. Sitting like this after such a long, long time, Tenzou finds himself not pulling his guards up. He finds himself relaxing in the not so familiar space of Iruka’s home, his bare feet resting in the thick rug, his neck craned to the ceiling, resting on sofa upholstery. Tenzou has been staring the light fixture directly above the center table, his fingers gently tracing circles on the curve of Iruka’s shoulder, firm and present, hoping that the small movement would keep Iruka grounded and not tipping over the edge of his grief-relief anymore.

They remain like that until the gold in the sky turns purple, casting long shadows in the walls of the apartment, cloaking them in mild darkness.

It is here that Iruka slowly pries himself away from Tenzou, limbs not quite steady, weakened from his emotional outpour. Iruka stepping away leaves Tenzou’s arms suddenly so empty, cold, devoid of warmth and that grounding scent of cinnamon and orange. Tenzou’s fingers reach out, elongating on the rug for a moment before he remembers that no, no it isn’t his place anymore. It leaves his fingers fisting on the rug fibers, white knuckled and tight, as Tenzou turns to look away when Iruka pushes himself to his feet and begin to peel the outer layer of his high collared blue robe.

In the cloak of the shadows, Tenzou watches Iruka fold the robe in half, dumping it tiredly by the sofa armrest, his hand coming up rub at a temple, at the no doubt catastrophic headache he must be feeling right now. Tenzou watches as Iruka sighs, tugging his ponytail free, slipping the hair tie on his wrist before he moves towards the kitchen, where he flicks the light switch and floods the apartment with brightness, his hands then puttering about to put on the kettle, taking out two cups and preparing tea.

In the sudden brightness, Tenzou can see visible fading tan lines on Iruka’s shoulder. He had worn tank tops it seems to keep cool in the onslaught of Sunagakure’s unkind heat waves. Iruka is far slenderer than Tenzou remembers, the jut of his collarbones sharper and visible with the singlet that Iruka apparently, opts to wear under his long robes. His hair is longer than Tenzou remembers, the length of it now brushing past his shoulder blades. An ache trembles its way through Tenzou at the sight Iruka makes. He shudders with it, his eyes raking down the length of Iruka’s back, thinking that despite Iruka’s quiet, reserved and very private losses, Iruka still remains quite breathtaking and beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” Iruka murmurs softly, his back remaining turned.

“I’m sorry too,” Tenzou swallows, tearing his gaze away from Iruka.

“I’ve put you in a difficult situation once again. It is selfish of me. My weakness—“

“I want to be here,” Tenzou cuts Iruka off, pushing himself up on his feet. “I’m not here because its been commanded. And even if it were, I still want to be here. I should have been here for you, through it all. You should have never gone through all this alone—“

The ceramic mug slamming down sharply on the counter punctuates a sudden silence in the room. The cup cracks, shatters to pieces in Iruka’s hands, something that makes him curse and hiss as he picks up the hanging tea towel and gathers the broken porcelain in it, tossing everything into the trash.

“Please don’t,” Iruka says softly. “You can’t say these things to me. You can’t _do_ this to me. I’ve already taken advantage of your kindness, of your presence when I shouldn’t have!”

“Why?” Tenzou asks, _begs_ , because he can’t understand. He can’t wrap his head around why Iruka continually wants to push him away when things can go back to what they were. When Kakashi hasn’t wanted Tenzou at all, has been firm on that front. When Kakashi has further emphasized how he doesn’t want Tenzou by ordering him to be with the man Tenzou loves the most. It’s fool proof. There is no way out of it even if Tenzou thinks Kakashi remains a piece of shit and doesn’t know what he’s doing. Because has always known what Kakashi needed more than Kakashi sometimes knew himself. It is Tenzou’s selfish, yearning heart that’s been denied for too long that makes him surge forward, crossing the space between them and turning Iruka to face him, his fingers desperate in their grip, bruising, holding on too tight on Iruka’s shoulders. “Why, Iruka? When I want to be here—“

“I miss you,” Iruka cuts him off, a self deprecating smile on his face, as the truth rolls past his tongue, bringing with it tears that once again tracks down Iruka’s cheeks. “I miss you so, _so_ much, Tenzou. I’ve never stopped missing you. I can’t lie and pretend that having you here right now doesn’t make me feel better. Because it does. It does!”

“Then why—“

“Because it isn’t fair!” Iruka snaps, pulling himself away from Tenzou’s arms. “It isn’t fair for you to be able to come to me after being discarded by the man you chose! It isn’t fair that it takes a command to rob you from me either! It is cruel and inhumane and sometimes, I wish never knew you at all! Maybe then I wouldn’t have to stand here and tell you all this!” Iruka buries his face in his hands, leaving Tenzou standing there frozen, his eyes wide at the outburst that rips past Iruka’s mouth like a roar. “It isn’t fair, and it isn’t _right_.” Iruka swipes his hand down his face, wiping his tears away, groaning in frustration as he swallows and tries to clear his throat. “You say you want to be here and yet you’re upset that Hokage-sama has ended your relationship. You say you want me, you miss me that you’ve been ordered to _be_ with me. But at what price? Kakashi had his slew of problems before he was even Hokage. He’d have more _now_ that he _is_ the Hokage, don’t you think? And if he chooses to need you while you’re with me, who the hell am I to put a stop to that?”

“Senpai wouldn’t do that.” Tenzou frowns, because no, Kakashi wouldn’t. He’d never.

“ _But you would!_ ” Iruka balls his hands to fists, turning to look at Tenzou. “You would. You _have_. I know your loyalty, Tenzou. I know your obligation to duty. This is why it’s better if you aren’t tied to down to anyone lesser than the man you consciously chose. You shouldn’t be! How is that fair to me? Where does that even leave _me_ , Tenzou, if I choose to let you in again? If I choose here, and now, to believe that you’d stay? That you wouldn’t go again? Who, truly is the bigger fool? Me or you? It’s me, right?”

Tenzou can feel a burn like no other behind his eyelids, standing there and listening to Iruka demean himself, think so little of himself, his importance to Tenzou’s life, all because of a command that he understands too well. He blinks, vulnerable and exposed like this, unsure of what to say, how to even put words to the dangerous storm swirls so maddeningly fast in his chest because what he hears is Iruka’s fear of his loyalty. Iruka is afraid of how Tenzou carries out his duties to the village. That Iruka cannot and will not risk himself being put in a position of severe vulnerability only to be discarded and left behind because Tenzou deems it so.

He did this. Shattered Iruka’s trust in him. Shattered it to irreparable pieces and Iruka _let_ him. Iruka allowed it, understood it and embraced it.

Iruka is right.

It isn’t fair.

It isn’t fucking right.

“I am so sorry,” Tenzou says, his hands shaking, as the weight of what he has done to Iruka, how much he’s wronged him, how unfair he’s been to him, how he’s abandoned him and everything else in between. And how cowardly it is of him to stand here now, in front of Iruka, asking _why_ when he should have seen it all this time. When _he_ is the reason why. “I am so, so sorry, Iruka…”

And Iruka can only dip his head in shame, searing in the heat of it as he shakes his head, murmuring no, no, under his breath, because this isn’t the point of this conversation. He isn’t looking for Tenzou to apologize to him when there really is nothing to apologize for. The mind is a complex thing, the heart even more so, and Iruka has always known that Tenzou carries no malicious bone in his body. It is perhaps this understanding that makes the hurt that much more painful. It is perhaps the patience, this acceptance that makes Iruka’s knees weak, his heart throb with an ache at the look that crosses Tenzou’s face, how it makes Tenzou’s pallor pallid, his eyes looking for forgiveness he doesn’t think he quite deserves. It is perhaps Iruka’s unending love for him that hasn’t died at all in the past five years, only strengthened with a yearning that had nowhere to go but inwards, fueled by fond and warm memories and tucked away in secret, something that Iruka can only ever indulge in once the drapes are drawn and his doors locked, the wards abuzz.

It is his love for Tenzou that makes him step forward, shaking his head because he doesn’t want an apology but an equal understanding, maybe a little patience for Iruka’s own heart too, in moments like this. He takes Tenzou’s face in his hands, rubbing a thumb over the curve of his cheekbones, watching wretchedly as guilt and shame and horror makes a very thin film of salt glisten in the depths of Tenzou’s eyes.

“I love you,” Iruka whispers, taking a step closer and pressing their foreheads together. “But there cannot be an us when it’s only confined within these walls, when it’s balanced on the word of our leader. Maybe it was never in the cards at all, you and me. Perhaps not in this life anyway, but maybe the next. I would want to find you. I would hope to find you, however long it takes. I want you to know that you will always be in my heart. You are the best parts of me—“

“Iruka, please—“

“—and I will always love you. I will never stop loving you, no matter how far away you are from me. So take comfort in that. Know that you are loved, no matter what. I wouldn’t know how stop loving you even I tried.”

Tenzou exhales a sound that is strangled, his eyes scrunching shut as he leans over and kisses Iruka, pulling him as close as he can manage, swallowing Iruka’s whimper and taking Iruka’s breath as his own. Iruka’s strength leaves him weightless in Tenzou’s arms, held up only by the sheer force of Tenzou not wanting to never let go, but it’s wrong. Their tongues brush against each other, their breaths coming out rough and desperate, the familiar sweet and sour taste of hibiscus tea that Tenzou likes to drink in the afternoon tickling the tips of Iruka’s tongue. Iruka cannot stop the whimper when Tenzou’s hand comes to the back of his skull, his fingers fisting in the length of his hair, tugging at the strands, slanting Iruka’s head just _so_ , deepening the kiss, devouring Iruka, his words, his love, sucking him dry as his teeth plays on the bottom tiers of Iruka’s lips, leaving Iruka weak and heady, his bearings lost as the world shrinks down to this one single moment where nothing else matters, nothing else exists except for the two of them.

It’s so wrong and so right at the same time that Iruka has to remember to press his hands on Tenzou’s face, untangling his arms from where they had automatically circled around Tenzou’s neck, releasing his grip on Tenzou’s hair to push Tenzou away. The kiss severs with both of their resonating gasps, as Iruka watches with an ache that makes him cry all over again at the sight of tear tracks cutting down Tenzou’s face, while the rest of his expression remains placid, neutral, all the walls coming up the moment their lips severed.

“Try to be happy,” Iruka whispers and gets shoved back with a force that leaves him staggering a few steps, watching as Tenzou turns and grabs his gloves, his cloak, his armor and his weapons. Iruka watches as his breath comes out of Tenzou harshly, Tenzou’s movements jerking as he keeps his head down, dressing himself up before he picks up the porcelain mask from the table. “Promise me you’ll try…”

Tenzou swallows, places his mask on, tugs the hood over his head and vanishes without another word, leaving Iruka standing there, the strength leaving his knees as he sinks to the floor, a hand covering his mouth as he weeps not for the return and relief, but for finally burying the last pieces of his heart.

*

That night, Tenzou lies awake staring at the ceiling of his apartment, sleep evading him.

There had been things in his life that Tenzou had no problems giving up on. Amongst them his sexual bond with Kakashi, perhaps even his ANBU mask and title as buntaichou. He had no problems giving up parts of his identity, maybe even some of his hobbies if it came to that.

But Iruka had never been part on his list.

Not once. Not ever.

Now, as he lies there, the ache in his chest throbbing like a raw, jagged, fresh open wound, he realizes just how selfish he’s been. Selfish in his thinking that just because Kakashi no longer wanted him, that Kakashi has made the decision for him, has rescinded the order, it would restore him on his proper balance. A balance, that Tenzou realize, had been completely kilter all this time the moment his lips touched Iruka’s and his arms circled around the warmth of his body. He’s been walking around blind, tilted and strained to one side. And although he and Kakashi had passion between them, had raw unbridled sexual energy that they drew from each other, it isn’t anywhere near as the passion Tenzou had for Iruka.

Not even close.

Iruka burned like the sun, the heat of his body warming the deepest parts of Tenzou. Tenzou bites his lower lip and tastes candied orange and spiced bitter black tea, two things Iruka must have had on his desk before he was summoned to the Hokage tower to receive the good news. Tenzou had tasted the desperation at the tips of Iruka’s tongue, the maddening intoxication of it. The brush of Iruka’s fingers through his hair, how he had gripped and held onto Tenzou only to let go is addicting. Iruka who is perfect to the public eye, immaculate and proper, but oh so fragile under the pristine press of his headmaster’s robes and the gleam of his forehead protector. Soft, wonderful, ever so loving and goddamn, so beautiful.

Iruka loves him.

Love him like he loves no other.

And Tenzou had crushed that to pieces with his obedience, his loyalty. How dare he go back and reason that it’s okay now, that senpai would never do that, that senpai isn’t as unkind or misunderstood like the Godaime, that Kakashi isn’t cruel and is actually a man who understands, too? That Kakashi knows the value of love because Kakashi himself loved like no other?

It wouldn’t matter, those reasons. Not to a man whose already been crushed. Why would Iruka care what Kakashi’s reasons would be when he only cares about Tenzou’s reasons had been?

Tenzou sits up with a jerk, exhaling a breath through gritted teeth because he doesn’t want to be here, in this empty apartment, devoid of warmth, his arms empty, his lips tingling and wanting nothing more than to search Iruka’s lips, to taste him once more and never part from him again. He doesn’t want to be a mere existence anymore, a shadow no one has heard of when he’s walked in sunshine for two whole years and loved every second of it. He doesn’t want to be a nobody, anymore.

More than that, he doesn’t want to be with Kakashi.

Maybe he never did.

Maybe, Kakashi is right.

Tenzou buries his head in his hands, gripping at his short cropped hair, thinking of the forever he had wanted all those years ago, the silver band that lays tucked within a velvet box that is probably buried in a landfill somewhere.

He thinks of forever and the weight of his duty to keeping Kakashi safe and finds himself, not for the first time, at a loss at what to do.

*

His feet carries him to the connecting accommodation of the hospital, where long term patients going through rehabilitation stay. It is late in the night, the mess-hall mostly empty save for a few patients gathered around the television watching a romantic-comedy television series episode. There is a quiet kind of cheerful energy hanging about them as Tenzou watches from beyond the windows, standing there in the grass, an outsider looking in. Among them is Gai, seated on a plastic chair, crutches resting on his lap, his laughter booming along happily with the others as the characters on the screen seem to argue and exchange witty dialogue.

Tenzou isn’t even sure why he had come here, to Gai of all people. He isn’t even sure how to word his question properly, if he even had him. How does one explain this kind of dilemma to an outsider, when Tenzou isn’t a man of many words to begin with?

Tenzou reads the lips of the characters on the television, huffing a little in amusement when they something humorous, reminding himself to perhaps look into the show later because he has time now that he is mostly by himself. Time is all he has when isn’t on duty. He should probably start a new show, fill that time with something, make an attempt at the existence he had before his commitment to Kakashi, before wanting a forever with Iruka.

But Gai turns, his still keen and sharp senses picking up on a disturbance, maybe. It’s not like Tenzou is hiding himself.

Gai spots him through the glass and with a hand wave and fluid stand later on his crutches, joins Tenzou outside.

*

They sit on bench under a blanket of stars that light the sky like snow flakes in the night, so still in their appearance, as a gentle breeze blows across the garden space of the hospital grounds. Tenzou finds himself looking up at it, listening to the hum of the crickets around them and from far away, the distant hubbub happening at Tea Avenue.

There are warm bottles of citron tea between himself and Gai, something that Gai takes careful sips off. He had brought it with him from the hospital vending machine, setting it between the bench as silent offering.

“I was expecting to see you more spirited, Tenzou. Kakashi has been forthcoming about your situation. But you’re here tonight and there is no vigor in your eyes, no skip in your step. If anything, you look like you’ve taken a roll off the hill. Willingly.” Gai shakes his head, chuckling.

“When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so bad,” Tenzou mutters, reaching for the warm bottle of citron tea, twisting the seal and cap off.

“And forgive me for being quite candid, but a visit from you is a rare thing.” The statement doesn’t come out unkindly, but it makes the flush ignite on Tenzou’s ears all the same. “Ah! Not that I don’t appreciate it, of course! A blossom in the connection shared between us when you are my most beloved rival’s kouhai is welcome in any shape or form! I would welcome in any attempt to strengthen our bonds! After all, we are all connected in one way or the other! We are comrades, first and foremost and it is my duty, as Konoha’s sublime green beast, to ensure your well being!”

Tenzou pointedly takes a sip of his tea then, the flush deepening as he clears his throat. Gai’s enthusiasm and energy is a good distraction. Sometimes it makes Tenzou wonder if its merely a façade; he wouldn’t know. He and Gai are not close at all.

“I…” Tenzou begins, licking his lips, swallowing the bitter sweet aftertaste of lemon as he tries to navigate how he can even begin to explain his presence to Gai. “I’m not sure how I can explain…”

“Perhaps it’s better to start with the most recent. Did something happen?” Gai asks, tilting his head to one side. “Naruto’s return has caused quite a ruckus. And with due reason! He is Konoha’s hero! His rise from the ‘dead’ is worthy of glorious celebrations and hearty reactions!”

Tenzou closes his eyes and sees Iruka, hunched by the door, forcing a smile to his lips and saying, _I’m okay_.

“I’ve learned the depth of how much I’ve destroyed someone’s trust in me, when they didn’t have that much trust in relationships to begin with. How my choices have rendered that trust almost non-existent,” Tenzou admits, his gaze dropping to the grass as he swallows. Gai hums softly, a gentle urge for Tenzou to further elaborate. “And I’ve been selfish, I suppose, in thinking that just because senpai no longer wants me, or need me, it means that things can return to the way they were. But that’s not really the case.”

Gai is quiet for a moment but then inhales and turns to look at Tenzou, his gaze searching, focused. “He is anxious, I assume, Iruka-sensei. Of your advances.”

“I wouldn’t call it an advance. But yes, he…” Tenzou stares at the bottle in his hand, swirling the liquid within gently with a sway of his wrist. “You can say my approach isn’t welcomed.”

“It is to be expected,” Gai sighs. “Unfortunately, Tenzou, Iruka-sensei has become a man with anxiety and trust issues. Men like him, despite their youthful and vigorous predisposition towards life, will often be drawn to people who is consistent and steadfast. You are that kind of man. Your loyalty and commitment to something you set your mind to is predictable. Consistency is key. Perhaps Iruka-sensei felt safe with you and when you left him to follow orders, he was threatened. Feeling safe with you, however, doesn’t change the fact that Iruka is an anxious person when it comes to matters of the heart. An anxious person still remains the same because anxiety is a wave that crashes on the shore every time an unpredictable circumstance challenges their expectations and comfort zones. You following orders when it comes to matters of the heart, well…” Gai shakes his head. “I am not surprised he turns you away. Anyone in his positon would. Which leads me to my question, Tenzou. Do you love Iruka?”

The answer comes surprisingly easy. “Yes.”

“With everything that you are?” Gai prompts, a smile tugging around the corners of his lips.

“ _Everything_ ,” Tenzou admits, shame igniting in his veins as he swallows past the sudden lump that has chosen to grow in his throat in that very moment, swallowing with great difficulty, choking with the effort.

“Then you must demonstrate that by earning his trust again,” Gai points out. “Before need, and before love must come trust. If there is no trust, then love and need cannot exist without chaos.”

“It’s easier said than done, Gai,” Tenzou sighs, shrugging a shoulder. “Senpai is—“

“Kakashi will be fine,” Gai cuts him off, sounding so sure of himself, so certain, his tone backed with conviction that makes Tenzou’s gaze snap up at Gai. Gai is smiling, the smile broadening to a grin as he reaches out and places a hand on Tenzou’s shoulder. “Tenzou, my rival’s kouhai, it’s not Kakashi you should be worrying about now. He will be fine with just your friendship. He was fine five years ago, remember? He used to tell me how proud he is of you, of how happy you are with Iruka. He will be fine again. You don’t have to worry about him anymore. Things have changed.”

“How can you be so sure?” Tenzou asks, caught off guard, his eyes wide at the conviction Gai is so openly, uncaringly displaying before him.

“Because I trust my rival. I trust his words and his actions.” Gai gives him a pointed look. “Without trust, love and need cannot exist without chaos.”

Tenzou blinks.

And then it hits him.

Trusting Kakashi with information from the beginning had been absent. He hid the truth from Kakashi when he committed to him. Kakashi had been upset because he had lied by omission about the reasons he committed. Kakashi had severed their relationship the same way a kunai would cut through a wire, ending it in a flash and throwing Tenzou in a sea of chaos, leaving him with ruins and expectations no one is really asking him to fulfill except himself. Kakashi cutting that wire only drowned Tenzou in the sea of his mistakes, the consequences of the decision he had made because he was ordered to, because he is loyal to Konoha first and foremost and not his comrades.

He had left his comrades behind. And if there’s anything he’s learned over the recent years is that you truly are trash when you abandon your comrades.

Chaos.

Kakashi had shown him the chaotic ramifications of his decision, of him not trusting the trust between them in the beginning. That maybe if he had conveyed it all to Kakashi first, risked it looking like pity, if he had trusted their bond first before his loyalty, maybe things would have turned out different.

Maybe.

Tenzou stares wide eyed at the ground, his hands shaking. Gai’s hand comes over his, steadying it, firm and sure, making Tenzou look up at Gai, so ashamed of himself, so humiliated.

“Kakashi will be _fine_ ,” Gai repeats. “You don’t have to worry about him, anymore. All he’s ever wanted was for you is to be happy, even if he isn’t part of that happiness. That much you should know and never forget. Trust in that, if nothing else.”

“I am sorry,” Tenzou apologizes, because what else can he say? What else can he do?

“Don’t apologize.” Gai shakes his head. “But build the trust you broke. You wanted to marry him, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Tenzou admits, his hands shaking despite Gai’s firm, warm and steady grip. And then adds as he turns the thought in his head and realizes, “I _do_.”

Gai squeezes Tenzou’s hand. “Then fan the flames of courage, my rival’s kouhai. Trust your love for him, and move forward knowing that you owe Kakashi nothing, no obligation, no orders. You do this for _you_. You are a free man. You must sow the seeds of the future that you wish to have for yourself, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know where to honestly start, Gai. He doesn’t even want me around. And I don’t blame him. I really, really don’t.”

“As my rival once said with utmost confidence, one must begin small in the matters of wooing of their beloved’s heart,” Gai beams, grinning ear to ear. “In fact, I believe it was a famous scene in Icha Icha Paradise, the movie! Where Junko herself had trust issues and Arashi had to overcome that by demonstrating his willingness to be by her side, no matter what challenge awaits them in the future. He started, if I recall, by presenting her with the most beautiful blooms from the gardens of paradise!”

“Gai, I’m not sure taking advice from Icha Icha Paradise the movie is going to gain me any favors in Iruka’s eyes. Kakashi-senpai is honestly a bit of an idiot to think Icha Icha Paradise is the key to solving most of life’s problems,” Tenzou chuckles, shaking his head.

That makes Gai boom with laughter, head thrown back, looking incredibly young in his open display of mirth. “He is a bit foolhardy that way, isn’t he? But,” Gai quirks an eyebrow. “it’s not a bad start, hmm?”

Tenzou thinks of how happy Iruka used to be every time Tenzou had given him flowers.

No, he thinks. It’s not a bad place to start at all.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find yourself a person who is as kind, patient and ever loving as Iruka. The good in his heart knows no limits. Hands up for Iruka! Horay! UwU
> 
> I was a wee bit stuck and Rika helped me moved forward hats off to her!
> 
> If you got this far, thank you soooooo much for reading and supporting this story! I really, really appreciate it and I hope it has entertained you in some way!


	10. x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

Iruka’s white washed, sunshine and halogen light illuminated office is disturbed by the presence of an intricately carved wooden holding vase, where within it, lies a plant that Iruka doesn’t quite recognize, sprouts of green almost oblong leaves peppered with small yellow flowers. The pot is small, something that Iruka can hold in the palm of one hand without difficulty, engraved in small indents to mimic the look of a basket weave. Iruka already knows who had left it there. There is only one person who would leave him gifts like this, and it’s been years since he’s been on the receiving end of such a thing. 

Nostalgia slams into him, as he shuts the door to his office and crosses the small space to his desk, setting his satchel down and pulling his swivel chair back, his knees suddenly not as steady as it had been during the walk to the academy, now that he’s staring at this small potted flowering plant. It is probably the only burst of vibrant color in his office, save for perhaps Konoha’s map that lies framed behind his chair on the wall, the gifted blue crystal paperweight with his initials engraved on it that had white waves within the smooth glass surface and the red dossiers that are stacked on one corner of his desk for his attention that day. Even the few reference books on the shelf are dark, old, and faded, not much color. It’s a bit of a bleak office of grey tiled floors, dark wooden table and dark brown leather chairs. 

The presence of the plant breaks that bleakness, injects a sort of vibrancy that Iruka didn’t expect.

A part of him feels wary, staring at the long stalks and tiny dots of bright sunshine yellow blooms. Just as much as a part of him, just the tiniest bit, swoops inwards with nervousness, uncertainty and perhaps just a touch of excitement at receiving something he used to almost always get gifted all those years ago.

Tenzou used to leave him bouquets declaring his love and affection; bouquets of lavender for his devotion, red carnations and white chrysanthemum for his love, forget me nots every time Tenzou had to leave for a long missions, irises for his hope and faith, corral roses that Iruka used to get in the middle of day when he used to teach, a silent message that had been Tenzou’s desire, his want for Iruka, how eager he is to have Iruka in his arms, and sometimes, in the mornings, when Iruka sleeps in, Tenzou would leave him messages of how beautiful he is - red daisies, burgundy roses, hibiscus, calla lilies and orchids.

It had been a language on its own.

And with time, Iruka learned some of its meaning. 

But this particular one, he isn’t sure about. He was never as well versed in botany as Tenzou. There had been times when he’d receive these gifts from Tenzou where he had to refer to a small guide book he had procured from the Yamanaka flower store. Iruka didn’t have that on him now; he picks up the pot and sets it on the windowsill of his window, staring out at the main street before turning to return to his seat to start the day’s work.

He’d ask Ryoko-sensei later, perhaps, their resident teacher in medicine. Maybe she would be able to provide some insight given her extensive knowledge in herbs.

If not, well, Iruka thinks it’s best to not interpret what it may mean. After all, there is bliss in ignorance. 

*  
Ryoko-sensei provides Iruka a very detailed explanation on the uses of the rue plant sitting on his window sill. Iruka learns that such a plant is commonly used as an active ingredient in insect repellants, along with a plethora of treatments such as water retention, bacteria and fungus treatment, swelling and bone injuries.

It is apparently also used in flower arrangements to signify regret, sorrow and repentance. 

Iruka finds himself staring at the pot by his window, somehow bumbling an excuse to Ryoko-sensei’s eyebrow quirk and thanking her for the few minutes of her lunch break time. He also hands her the pot to place it in their science lab, where the younger children can perhaps learn it, a live example so to speak, as opposed to mere pictures that are illustrated in their text books, a furious flush brushing over his cheeks and ears the entire time.

The plant is gone within those minutes, thankfully no longer distracting Iruka like it did the entire time prior to the Academy’s lunch break bell, where he had found himself staring at it in the middle of his work when he should have been going through the Academy’s weekly reports. 

the meaning of it, however, remains with Iruka for the rest of the day.

*

Until the next morning where Iruka spots a pot of vivid, large sunflowers by his window sill, the blooms facing the morning light. The sight of it makes Iruka’s stomach plummet to the ground and bounce up at the sky, all at the same time, the door shutting behind him a little sharply as he drops his satchel with a bit of loud and reckless thump on his table, his feet crossing the space towards the window brusquely. 

Iruka isn’t stomping.

He isn’t mad.

But he is a little irritated despite knowing what sunflowers mean. This one he remembers. He has been on the receiving end of it before — cheerful thoughts and hope. 

This isn’t something Iruka needs right now. Tenzou’s silent words in beautiful shapes and color is not something he needs in his life. He doesn’t need this distraction, this reminder, this affection to be injecting him with hope that he doesn’t want at all. Something he doesn’t wish to succumb to because the truth of the matter is, Iruka is afraid. He’s terrified of what this all can mean when it shouldn’t mean anything anymore. They’re done with each other, that much had been clear.

Apprehension settles in the depths of Iruka’s stomach like a bad stomach flu. It isn’t surprising; it’s the most natural of emotions whenever one sees something that has potential to bring wonderfulness in one’s life. This moment, here and now, staring at the earnest meaning of Tenzou’s words, is real, potent, perhaps even significant. 

Iruka’s fingers brush over the smooth, soft yellow petals, failing to squash the tendril of affection at the memory of the past, filling his lungs with warm, sweet air that makes him inhale long and deep, a promise that he would most definitely have a good rest of his day, when the warmth of Tenzou’s breath brushes against the tips of his ear, saying, I hope you have a great day today, sensei~

Before he wrenches his fingers away from the sunflowers, picks up the pot and stomps outside where he finds the first empty classroom and places the flower pot by the windowsill. Let the children fuss and take care of it.

Iruka has no time to be fostering lofty ambitious hope for affection and love that may just be yanked out of his grasp once again.

*

The next day, there is a large bouquet of purple hyacinths on his table. 

This time, Iruka picks it up and gives it to the administration assistant. He tells him to find a vase and keep it in the lobby, brighten up the place. Iruka doesn’t waste a precious minute lingering on what it can possibly mean.

Until that evening, when he picks up his dinner from Haru’s izakaya, when he bypasses the Yamanaka flower shop only to walk back into it where he finds himself purchasing a small guidebook on flower and plant language.

That morning, Tenzou had said, I’m sorry, please forgive me.

*

They keep coming for weeks, months, the flowers and plants that is, much to Iruka’s mild chagrin and irritation.

And Iruka gives them away every time, after looking through his guidebook.

The day he receives the bellflower, the one where Iruka can hear Tenzou’s unwavering love, the one where he knows - gods how he knows — that had Tenzou been there with him, that morning, staring at the small pot of vivid indigo blooms, he would say, I will never stop loving you.

Tenzou’s love was always unwavering.

At least until his loyalty comes into play.

But even then, even amidst duty, Tenzou’s love for Iruka remains as steady as the continued drum of Iruka’s heart.

Iruka knows this. He understands this. 

It doesn’t make the fear and now, months later, the hesitation, any less palpable.

*

Winter comes with a potted plant of chamomile for patience because Tenzou knows how Iruka would eventually start missing the sight of Konoha’s green amidst all the snow. This Iruka doesn’t give away immediately. He tells himself it’s because he’s got a meeting to get to in preparation for the annual headmasters’ summit and reception with the allied forces. He tells himself that he doesn’t have the time to fuss with Tenzou’s affections when on top of an oncoming summit, he’s got Naruto’s upcoming wedding to worry about too.

He hasn’t come up with a speech yet.

He hasn’t decided on what to give the newlyweds yet, either.

He hasn’t even decided what to wear as Naruto’s father.

And while the wedding is months away in mid-spring, Iruka’s plate is filled to the brim with the summit, the winter closing of the Academy, the student nominees for the upcoming genin graduation review, and the mid year performance review of his academy staff.

He tells himself that the reason the chamomile pot remains on his window sill is not because he misses the sight of his old chamomile plant, the one that had sat in his apartment window before the war and destruction, before Tenzou had left him, before his world had been washed with hues of sepia. He tells himself that it’s because he’s fucking busy, he’s tired, he’s cranky, he’s mentally challenged and he’s got no time to be constantly looking for more window sills in the academy.

Four months in and the academy is running out of space for Tenzou’s affection.

And if Iruka perhaps starts a game of guessing of what Tenzou is about to leave on his desk on his morning walk to the academy, he tells himself it’s simply because he’s trying to figure out which teacher to give it to, where it would look best aesthetically. That’s all.

He’s not looking forward to it. 

He’s not excited about it. 

Not one bit. 

If Tenzou is hell bent in being a stubborn fool, then Iruka won’t stop him. Tenzou should know better than to waste his time. 

*

But on the day Iruka is to meet with Hokage to go over the final details of his upcoming trip to the headmasters’ summit in Earth, Iruka receives a bouquet of corral lilies and roses.

It leaves him flushing to the collar of his headmaster’s robes, the heat dusting over his cheeks and the tips of his ears at the bold proclamation of Tenzou’s desire for him, when he steps into the Hokage’s office and finds Tenzou standing on guard by Kakashi’s chair, a quiet unmoving porcelain masked shadow. 

“Hokage-sama,” Iruka greets, swallowing and bowing deeply, adjusting the hold on the dossier under his arm, his throat suddenly dry, his heart drumming nervously under his rib cage. 

“No need to stand on ceremony, Iruka! Have a seat! Tea?” Kakashi asks, pushing the hat off his head, setting it on the side of the table. 

“Ah, thank you, Hokage-sama,” Iruka mumbles, taking his seat and purposely avoiding Tenzou’s form, the heat suddenly rising once more, the blush painting down his chest and making Iruka grasp his knees to prevent himself from fidgeting in discomfort.

He starts talking about the agenda of their meeting, leaping at the safety net of talking about work, something that Kakashi goes with as they discuss the contents of the presentation and contribution Konoha will put forward at the summit. Through it all, Iruka finds himself mildly distracted, his senses fine tuned to the other presence in the room. Tenzou moves around the room, footsteps quiet and almost not touching the ground, disturbing the air the way a soft, silent exhaled breath would, hardly there, hardly disturbing the flow of conversation between Iruka and Kakashi.

That is, until, two cups of tea are placed on the table; one by Kakashi, one by Iruka.

The smell of cinnamon tickles Iruka’s nose, making him lose his track of thinking and speech, as his sentence tapers to silence and he finds himself staring at his tea cup. Tenzou has brought him his afternoon tea, his favorite blend, even, something that can only be purchased from a local tea house on tea avenue. Iruka doesn’t realize how he’s staring at the cup, his sentence cut off until Kakashi hums and sets his own tea cup down, the clink of china on wood making Iruka’s gaze snap up towards Kakashi’s bemused gaze.

“Let’s take a break for a moment,” Kakashi offers, leaning further into his chair, and gesturing to the tea cup. “Which reminds me, the reception after the summit is a formal affair. Do you have something suitable?” 

“I — “ Iruka blinks, thinking. “Not entirely, Hokage-sama. But this is something I plan to rectify immediately. I will have something tailored by this weekend.” 

“Maa, no need to panic. If you don’t have something yet, something can be provided for you. Would that be a problem?”

Iruka blinks rather owlishly at the question, taken off guard by it. “Uh, no, Hokage-sama. If it’s provided then that saves me the trouble, if I can be so honest…”

“Then leave it to my office to assist you in that regard,” Kakashi smiles, both eyes arching into crescents. “Also, there is the matter of your guard and escort.”

“Right…” Iruka reaches up and rubs the back of his head. 

“I’ll be assigning ANBU as your escort,” Kakashi says, rubbing his chin. 

“Hokage-sama!” Iruka jerks, surprised, eyes wide. “Isn’t that a bit much? We will be taking the main road. A jounin or even a fellow churning will suffice.”

“Maa, I hope you didn’t think that I’d be sending away my brand new headmaster without the best guard protecting his back. Not to mention that said headmaster happens to be Konoha’s hero and future Nanadaime’s most precious person,” Kakashi hums, quirking an eyebrow at Iruka, who flushes at the attention and swallows with difficulty. “I wouldn’t send you so defenseless, Iruka, even though I know you’re more than capable of defending yourself. Still. Consider it as peace of mind for your Hokage~”

“O-Of course,” Iruka murmurs, rubbing the edge of his scar with a finger, feeling incredibly self conscious and awkward at being the receiving end of such attention from the Hokage. “I don’t mean to insult your decision or strategy, Hokage-sama. Just that… to assign ANBU…”

“The very best!” Kakashi grins, turning to his side and waving his hand. “Cat will coordinate your journey with you~”

Iruka looks up at that, his eyes wide, as Tenzou steps forward from his perch in the corner, taking his mask off, and bowing deeply, all the way down to the waist before he straightens and focuses his entire attention on Iruka, as if the world around them doesn’t exist, as if Kakashi didn’t exist.

“It is my honor to guard you with my life, Iruka-sensei,” Tenzou says, his voice soft, the words a promise.

Iruka tells himself that staring mutely, unable to form words, given the circumstances between himself and Tenzou, is an acceptable way of answering this surprise.

*

Discussing their travel turns out to be curt and polite, with Tenzou laying out a map on Iruka’s office table, a clear route already plotted along with rest points that the administration building budget has allocated for. Iruka agrees to everything, with the exception of the final resting point.

“If it’s all the same to you, Cat-san, I’d like to forego this resting stop and continue towards Earth. I’d prefer to reach Earth as soon as possible and take the time to settle and rest there rather than wasting more hours on the road,” Iruka says, pointing at the pencil mark on the map. 

“I understand. Then, if it’s all the same to you, maybe we can change this last rest stop to over here.” Tenzou points at a lake area on the map. “It’ll be a slightly longer journey, but it’ll give us time for the final leg.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Iruka smiles, his chest drumming with apprehension and nervousness for the upcoming summit. He plucks a pencil from the pen holder on his desk, circling the new rest stop and erasing the old one. “I am looking forward to working with you Cat-san.”

“Yamato.” Tenzou picks up the map, correcting Iruka. “You may refer to me by this name for this mission, Iruka-sensei.” 

“As you wish,” Iruka agrees, dipping his head, scolding himself for the heat that spills on his cheeks when he adds politely, “I am in your care, Yamato-san.”

Because the look Tenzou gives him then, the slight quirk of the corners of his lips, leaves Iruka dreading the trip ahead, the heat darkening on his cheeks as he tears his gaze away from Tenzou’s quiet focus raking over his frame like a warm brush.

*  
Their journey to Earth takes three days in total. 

The awkwardness thankfully doesn’t settle between them when they’re moving or actively setting up camp. Iruka keeps himself small and quiet, not really looking over his shoulder where Tenzou lingers like a guarding shadow, leaving Iruka to set the pace of their journey. They do not exchange words much, save for polite inquiries and how to set up for the night during their rest stops. Tenzou would set up a small cabin space with a pit in the middle to light up a fire, always taking first watch when Iruka closes his eyes for a short nap. They function around each other like a well oiled machine, knowing when to slow down, when to speed up, where to side step when they’re taking their boots off to leave it by the doorway of the small cabin, and when to pass on rations that Tenzou carries in his pack.

Iruka welcomes the journey, standing tall as the landscape changes from towering bare katsura trees dusted with white snow, to barren deserts and then finally, open grasslands and rice paddies. They seem to stretch endlessly, as far the ice can see, only swaying with the breeze when he and Tenzou crosses their expanse, their feet and chakra barely disturbing the earth, leaving behind no broken grass blade or leaf, and barely a print of a boot. Like this, with the wind brushing past Iruka’s face, he stands tall on this ever onward invisible road, his tries bold, a bit of pride in them as he’s both apprehensive and excited to be part of this summit. It’s a career defining moment and he’s spent countless hours before bed memorizing and going over the content of Konoha’s presentation, approved by the Hokage. It is an honor, after all, to be representing the village. 

For the most part, the first leg of their journey is mostly silent.

Until they reach the final rest stop, just a three-quarter day travel away from Earth, the landscape now changed to that of embryonic peepal and gulmohar trees lay upon the barren earth. When spring comes, Iruka knows from memory that this entire forest will be a spread of lush green grass and towering canopies of green and vibrant red leaves, with the golden sunlight permeating through its foliage. But now, with winter still seeped deep into the cold, snowless, brown, damp earth, they are merely black jagged lines reaching up to the sky in dark night. It’s eerie and beautiful at the same time, something that Iruka keeps staring at as he chews his ration bar, the flickering of the fire on the pit in the center of the small cabin Tenzou has erected once more keeping him warm.

Iruka crumples the wrapping paper of his ration bar, tucking it into the side pocket of his travel bag, dragging the thermal blanket around his shoulders, staring out through the window at the starry sky beyond the flow of the red and gold light their fire casts over the shadowy corners of the warm, wooden cabin.

“Nervous?” Tenzou asks, unmoving from his perch against the wall and his bedroll, where he has a perfect vantage point of the door and window and just an arm’s reach away from Iruka to drag him to safety if need be.

“Not in a bad way,” Iruka responds softly, tucking his chin against the crook of his arm, where it lies folded on top of his knees under the blanket. “I don’t mind public speaking so much. It wasn’t always like that though.”

“Oh?” Tenzou prompts. “It wasn’t?”

Iruka closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing. “I guess I never told you. I wasn’t always the best when it comes to public speaking. Growing up, I wanted all the attention or any attention. But once that was on me, I didn’t quite know what to do with it. It got easier when I started teaching. Children are the most honest audience anyone can have. They have no filter, no care for airs and are brutally honest. I remember days when my own confidence would crash to the ground just because one of my students would ask, Iruka-sensei, you look weird, do you need to wee-wee? Or, Iruka-sensei, you sound weird, did you skip breakfast again?”

Iruka doesn’t need to look to see the bemusement on Tenzou’s face. He can feel the weight of his expression, softened by the small firelight between them. “Must have been nerve wracking.”

“It was…” Iruka hums, turning his head to look at Tenzou. “You get used to it. I am who I am today because of my students…”

“I hear only good things from the work you’ve done so far for the Academy, Iruka-sensei,” Tenzou says, a bit of pride that leaves Iruka’s cheeks burning hotter than the fire between them. “I can’t think of anyone more deserving of headmaster. I can’t think of anyone better to represent Konoha’s future generation than you. I can also say with confidence that the Hokage shares the same opinion.”

“You two think too highly of me,” Iruka swallows, tearing his gaze away from the focus that seems to pierce through his skin. “I am only doing what I am tasked to do.”

“Serving and fulfilling orders is one thing,” Tenzou murmurs. “But no amount of duty or following orders can ever match up to passion fueling you to fulfill that order, especially if your heart isn’t into it. Know what I mean?” 

Iruka swallows and shakes his head. “I’ve never been put in a position like that before, Yamato-san. I am lucky, I suppose, to have only been ordered to fulfill tasks where my heart and pride has successfully fueled.”

“Then, Iruka-sensei, I hope the day never comes where you are forced into that position,” Tenzou says, neutral, calm, no emotion betraying anything. It’s almost too polite.

Iruka wants to say he’s not too worried. In terms of loss, at this point, he only had Naruto and his way of the shinobi. He’s already been through losing Naruto. It’s just a matter of going through it again.

(Something Iruka hopes to never see in his lifetime.)

He says nothing instead, murmuring a soft good night and giving Tenzou his back as he tugs the blanket over his shoulder, bundling up under the warmth. He falls asleep easily, as he always does when Tenzou is around, his body and mind feeling safe and at ease, being around a trusted person.

It’s something Iruka hates but is powerless to stop.

*

Iwagakure is tucked behind a rocky plain where the land bleeds from green flora to rich, red, earth with towering jagged peaks that opens up to noble walls carved by nature, sanstone flanks, tunneled winds and river canals that line them like silver ribbons under the morning light. They follow the main river, one that is fringed by barren lush, thick neem trees, their leaves a wintry dark and not the usual vibrant green it would be during spring and summer, their feet following the dusty bed fringed by red cliffs, arid grandeur and amber gold rocks. 

It’s been a long while since Iruka has come close to Iwagakure, or even anywhere near it’s terrain. He finds his eyes following the swirling alcoves of canyon walls, where spring water would trickle from some the cracks, bleeding into the dusty earth, flora and fauna emerging from the soft-tinted rocks and walls of clay, reaching up for the sun despite being trapped within the jagged cracks. There are several shrubs of flowerless mountain peppers, their time to bloom and blossom not yet arrived.

The canyon is colder only because of the tunnel wind. Iruka finds himself tugging his travelling cloak hood on tighter, shielding his face from the sharp whip of the wind. 

By late afternoon, they reach the end of the canyon maze. It opens up to grassy and rocky terrain, where just beyond the weave of the river, the valley hills tower up like the proud parents of the greenery they supported on their rocky foundation. It’s a jubilant sight, Iruka thinks, as they continue past the grass land and towards the decadent green foliage surrounding the sky high walls of Iwagakure.

They are greeted by a gate guard, who looks over their documentation, cross referencing it with their own list before they are told to wait in what looks like a holding cell. The crackle of radio signifies their communication exchange, something that Iruka pointedly does not cast a curious gaze to, opting to stare at the iron of their gates. It’s a fifteen minute wait all together, before a uniformed liaison appears and gives them a customary greeting.

They weren’t expecting them too early; Iruka explains that they cut travel time short in favor of better rest in preparation for tomorrow’s summit.

They get escorted across the limestone building that are painted in hues of salmon pink and light yellows, their feet going over the market towards the administration building where they are to present and register their arrival. It’s all paperwork and identity confirmation, a lot of polite mannerisms and slight aloof and curious gazes, head turning at the foreigners present. They get issued an official identification card and then are ushered towards their living quarters, something that is located a few kilometers away from the Tsuchikage tower, the walls towering in freshly coated paint of light yellow, where beyond, it opens up to a large garden with a central gazebo surrounded by a big pond. Thriving lotus flowers float on the surface of the pond, framed by elegantly manicured shrubs of plumeria, hibiscus, jasmine and oleander. 

Their quarters, is a standalone small building that opens up to a large studio, the sleeping quarters separated by white linen and arabesque woodwork, woven rugs and low wooden furniture with engraved metal work – something that is customary in Earth. There is a spread of warm orange and gold cushions spread over the balcony, accompanied by covered wooden tables and small glass painted lanterns that also match the ceiling lights of the room. 

There is a soft scent of sweet jasmine lingering in the room, along with rosewater and sandalwood, which their escort promptly extinguishes by closing the lid on the burning plate of incense, swirls of smoke disappearing into the kaleidoscope of colors on the ceiling, where the rainbow reflects from painted glass of the decorative ceiling lights.

Iruka finds himself unable to breath at how beautiful their living quarters are, befitting for diplomats. Iruka isn’t quite used to such lavishness; he hopes his state of being out of place isn’t too reflected when he thanks their escort gratefully for his time and suggestion of the best places to grab dinner in their main village square. 

With the door firmly shut with the departing escort, Iruka unfastens his travel cloak, unknots his forehead protector and frees his hair from the ponytail, sighing exhaustedly before he steps out into the balcony, his bare feet brushing over smooth, cool tiles, walking past the gentle billowing sway of soft, dusty rose chiffon drapes into the glow of the late afternoon sun. The skies over Iwagakure is clear that day, not a cloud in sight, the sun wondrously warm despite the cool breeze.

Iruka takes a deep breath, sucking in the sweet smell of roses and jasmine, his eyes lingering over the large pond and the gazebo in the center, a small smile tugging around the corners of his lips.

The words are out before he can stop himself, his body turning to beckon Tenzou. “Look, Yamato-san. It’s beautiful!” 

Tenzou who is standing there, beyond the open balcony doors, his expression open and soft and far too readable all of a sudden, when he nods and agrees, his eyes never quite leaving Iruka. 

“It is…” Tenzou says, his voice whisper soft.

Iruka flushes then, hot and embarrassed, scolding himself the entire time when he realizes that Tenzou isn’t even paying attention to the garden at all.

*

Given that they’re only going to be in Iwagakure for a day, with the summit meetings taking place from eight in the morning till two in the afternoon and the reception taking place in the same evening from seven onwards, Iruka decides that taking a stroll in the market now after having a quick shower is the only time he’ll have if he is to secure some sort of possible wedding present for Naruto and Hinata.

He conveys this plan to Tenzou, who agrees and asks him, “Would you like to grab dinner outside as well, or bring it back here? It’ll be your first warm meal in over three days.”

“It’ll be your first warm meal, too. Don’t act like I’m the only person of importance in this mission,” Iruka murmurs, rolling his eyes a little bit.

“You are.” It comes out serious, a factual statement. “There is nothing more important than you, Iruka-sensei.”

Iruka cannot stop the flush from painting over his cheeks, the ferocity it disappearing past his civilian shirt. “Yamato-san…”

“Rama-san suggested Asha’s. I have never been but it isn’t the first time I’ve heard of the name. Would you like to grab your dinner there?”

“Our dinner,” Iruka corrects, frowning.

“Our dinner, then,” Tenzou corrects, his gaze soft and doing all kinds of things to Iruka’s knees and stomach. 

“I am not some hoity-toity royalty, Yamato-san. I’d appreciate it if you would at the very least treat me like a comrade or some sort of equal, given that you do out rank me in nearly every way. Hokage-sama may have tasked you with my safety, but there is no need to behave like you exist to simply serve me, or speak like you’re my servant.” Iruka scolds, and huffs when he sees Tenzou’s lips curl up to a lopsided smile. “What?”

“Iruka-sensei is scolding me because he’s concerned about me~” Tenzou gently teases.

“Oh do shut up,” Iruka scoffs, turning on his heel and heading straight for the door, blushing furiously the entire time when he catches the sound of Tenzou chuckling behind him.

*

The market is busy when they step into it, stall holders pushing harder than the one before to unload their wares. The market is divided into two segments, spice, food and beverage to the western end and home goods, fabrics and crafts on the eastern end. They make their way through the late evening bustle, moving in a relaxed pace amidst the milling throng. Families, friends, and lovers stroll, some hand in hand, some chasing the other, all of them casually browsing and haggling. Iruka brushes past hanging display of cashmere, cotton and silk, his fingers dancing upon their soft textures, mouth relaxed in a polite and awed smile. 

Tenzou follows behind him, a mere step away from Iruka, the both of them dressed down in casual denims and a sweatshirt; Iwagkure’s winter isn’t as brutal as Konoha’s. All one needs are a light jacket and if it gets too cold, an extra shirt under the sweatshirt would suffice. 

Iruka spots a silver frame embedded by blue crystals within the centers of the elegantly hand carved jasmine blooms. Iruka’s eyes lingers upon it, thinking that the jewels remind him of Naruto’s eyes and jasmine, in all its beauty, reminds him of Hinata. He picks it up from the stall display, his thumb brushing over the jasmine petals. 

Naruto may not get it, but Hinata certainly would appreciate it. Iruka imagines Naruto’s handsome face and Hinata’s bridal look captured in a candid moment underneath the glass. He thinks it’s perfect.

“It’d look good with their wedding picture, don’t you think?” Iruka asks, holding the picture frame out to face Tenzou.

“I think so,” Tenzou says, lifting his gaze up from the frame to meet Iruka’s. “Hinata would appreciate it.”

“I think so too,” Iruka smiles, dimples dotting his cheeks at having finally found something to gift the newlyweds. It seemed a little off to simply hand in money as the groom’s father. Iruka didn’t feel comfortable with just that.  
Iruka’s smiles tugs to an excited grin, as he hands it over to the merchant to polish the silver and asks if he could wrap it as a present.

*

Asha’s turns out to be an open air restaurant tucked behind the front of an old limestone building, where overhead, there is a dangle of lightbulbs encased in orange glass lanterns, that matches the mustard yellow seating cushions of the wooden chairs and tables. Each table is covered with a red embroidered table cloth, where upon seating, the waiter appears with a bowl of rose water scented hot towels. The patrons are a mix bag of families, couples and groups of friends, all of them chatting amongst themselves in the cozy atmosphere. Iruka cannot help but keep looking around – the garlands above them, the golden lights, the reflecting orange, the soft music playing in the backround, the smell of rosewater lingering on his fingertips, as he brushes them over the weave of the rich, red table cloth. 

The menu, is a foreign thing all together.

Iruka never had the chance to truly enjoy Earth and its rich, vibrant culture; it’s difficult to enjoy these things when one is in the middle of a mission. But here, now, Iruka has the time and the opportunity, and after spending five minutes reading the entire menu twice, he can only recognize steamed long cumin spiced rice and what sounds like a mango shake.

“What are you having?” Iruka looks over the menu at Tenzou, who had long ago set his menu back down on the table.

“Whatever the waiter recommends,” Tenzou quips neutrally. If he didn’t blink owlishly, Iruka would have never guessed how lost Tenzou is too. 

“Now that’s a brilliant idea,” Iruka says, setting his menu down too. 

*

They end up with a sampler dish of curries, all served with generous helpings of kiln baked and brushed with fresh butter bread that arrives still steaming in a basket, pickled spicy mango, mint chutney and pickled onions. They get served in a large brass tray, the different kinds of vegetarian and chicken curry served in smaller sharing bowls. 

Iruka has to look across the table to see what Tenzou is doing, who seems to mimic what their neighboring table is doing by tearing up a piece of bread and dipping it into spinach and potato curry that apparently is one of their best sellers. Iruka watches, as Tenzou takes a bite of the bread in his hand, chews thoughtfully and nods.

“Different but not bad,” Tenzou murmurs, going for a second dip and a second bite. This time his response is more sure. “It’s actually quite good.”

“Really?” Iruka looks at the bread basket and tears a piece, scooping a piece of potato and some of the spinach gravy in the small well he creates by holding the bread piece between his thumb and index finger. 

The flavor is rich, creamy, warm and so comforting, all of it blanketing Iruka’s mouth in gentle spice that mixes well with the buttered flat bread. The bread itself is chewing, with some of the pot and edges crispy, adding just another layer of texture. The potato is sweet and of the land, what with Earth being well known for its potato crops. Iruka’s senses are tingling as he swallows, his eyes brushing past the other bowls. A little surer this time, he tears another piece of bread and dips it into the darker colored curry of black lentils, kidneys beans – this one is also another burst of aromatic spices, almost silky in texture, the lentils and kidney beans melting like butter at the tip of Iruka’s tongue, and just under it, a fragrant smokiness. 

“Wow,” Iruka says, around a mouthful. “That’s good!”

“Yeah?” Tenzou grins and dips a piece of bread in the lentil and bean curry, taking his first bite of it as Iruka swallows. “You’re right.” 

Iruka grins widely. 

And proceeds to pick up one of the red and spicy colored cottage cheese skewers. A bite of it leaves his mouth wrapped in the bed of melt in your mouth creaminess, something so rich, and yet firm enough to be chewy, that he can’t stop himself from humming. Soon, he and Tenzou are dipping into the bowls with their bread with gusto, pouring opulent colored spiced cashew gravy and pieces of tenderized tandoor grilled succulent chicken over bowls of long grained fragrant rice.

They speak as they eat, trying a plethora of combination with the bread, rice and crispy, crunchy wafer thin like thing that Iruka swears tastes even better when dipped into the mind chutney and washed down with a bit of spicy mango. Tenzou didn’t like that very much, the spiced mango pickle making his face pinch, leaving Iruka laughing unguardedly, and a little uncontrollably.

“I forget how you can’t handle your spice very well!” Iruka teases, gesturing to the tall glass of mango shake. “Quick wash it down with that.”

Tenzou listens, his face flushed as he takes a big almost gargling gulf of the cool, sweet mango shake, and sighs. “I’m not listening to you anymore.”

“It’s not that bad!” Iruka chuckles, grinning widely, chin propped on his palm.

“The mint and this thing, is good, I’ll admit to that.” Tenzou points at the crispy bread. He then points at the mango pickle. “This is a bit much.”

“I might pick up a jar and bring it home. I think I saw them selling it here,” Iruka says, looking over his shoulder towards the counter, past the happy couple seated behind him. “This is really such a nice place. Thank you for eating with me tonight, Yamato-san.”

“No, thank you, Iruka-sensei,” Tenzou says, his voice whisper soft. “It’s always good to be around your company.”

Iruka turns to look at Tenzou then, watching him polish off the rest of his rice bowl, the world around Iruka hushing to a dull hum in the background as he stares at Tenzou knit his strong arched eyebrows, his thick long lashes curling against his cheek when he blinks and scoops the last spoonful of rice and curry into his mouth. Iruka watches with his breath leaving him slowly, at how fatally attractive his ex-lover, the love of his life truly is in this moment, sitting upright and picking up the napkin from the table, wiping the corners of his mouth and taking the last few sips of his mango shake. Tenzou looks up then, a curious look in his deep, almost catastrophic dark eyes, polished marble, brilliant and so attractive that Iruka forgets.

Gods, how he forgets, for just a moment, how Tenzou is no longer his.

When he has looked at his lover this very same way so many times in the past, when he’s lost track of time just watching Tenzou be, breathe, exist. He’d watch the flex of tendons around Tenzou’s neck, the subtle shift in his neutral expression, the move of his wrist when he, like now, sets the tall frosted empty glass shake on the table, wiping strong, long fingers with the napkin. When Tenzou would lick the corner of his left lip after a meal, chew on his lower lip once, as if chasing the last bit of flavor clinging to the tiers of those soft lips that Iruka knows – gods, how he knows – can kiss and steal his breath away. Like this, here, right now, with no emblem of Konoha upon their person, dressed like civllians, Iruka is simply a man, seated across the love of his life, devilishly handsome with his distinct cheekbones and angular jaw, powerless to the pull of his gaze that darkens, that makes heat flare in Iruka’s veins because Tenzou is staring back at him, his entire focus zeroed in on Iruka, his eyes on Iruka’s lips.

The heat blossoms over Iruka’s cheeks, as he tears his gaze away from Tenzou, scolding himself that he needs to be careful where he looks, how he looks at Tenzou. When he knows that Tenzou holds deep affections and love for him still, and that succumbing to that would be a disaster of great proportions.

This is not the time. Nor place.

Iruka doubts there’ll ever be a time or place.

But Tenzou’s silent and heated gaze continues to brush over him, that it rattles Iruka. It leaves him distracted, his mind amok, something that traitorously feels like almost arousal curling lazily at the bottom of his stomach because Iruka cannot deny how handsome, how wonderfully breathtaking Tenzou is under the soft glow of the overhead orange light. How the shadows cut across the length of his strong body, when they pay their bill and stand to leave. How even under Iwagakure’s street lights, as Tenzou walks beside Iruka, his presence is warm, almost all encompassing and a comfort to Iruka like a furnace that’s been turned on a cold day.

Iruka hastily puts distance between them, keeping his back to Tenzou when they settle down for the night on their respective double beds, Iruka’s sleep turbulent with dreams of Tenzou’s warm, strong arms around him, his lips pressing against Iruka’s ear, murmuring the syllables of Iruka’s name that leaves Iruka waking up with a jerk at the crack of dawn, his breath caught in the middle of his throat, his senses suddenly assualted with the smell of cedar trees and amber -- suddenly it's too much, having Tenzou too close. Here. Now. Nothing but a few feet between them, the warmth of his presence all encompassing make parts of Iruka _ache_ with a longing that doesn't belong.

Not like this.

Not ever. 

Not anymore.

Iruka abandons his bed early, stepping out into the balcony, into the cold air, where he wraps his arms around himself and takes a seat in one of the lush floor cushions, drowning himself in the scent of roses and jasmine, trying to wash away Tenzou from his senses only to fail when Tenzou is up, checking in on him, peering past the curtain to make sure he's okay, while Iruka resolutely, stubbornly, refuses to meet his gaze, keeping his eyes trained across the expanse of the gated garden beyond the balcony.

Iruka suddenly remembers - in a fit of mild irritation - that he completely forgets to purchase a jar of Asha’s spicy mango pickle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earth's culture inspired from [Rika's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikacain/pseuds/rikacain) take on Naruto land. 
> 
> Foods Iruka and Tenzou ate if anyone cares: papad, basmati steamed rice, dal makhni, butter naan, reshmi kabab masala, tikka paneer, aloo palak and mango lassi.


	11. xi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

Tenzou is a witness to Iruka actively keeping himself very busy, going over his notes over and over again, a bundle of nervous energy that he channels by clenching and unclenching his fists, massaging the palms of his hands, lips moving in a whisper as he recalls his talking points. Dressed in dark navy blue headmaster’s robes with Konoha’s fiery red emblem strapped on his leg arm, long hair sleeked up to a high, tight, neat ponytail, Iruka looks presentable, proud and stands tall; Tenzou had watched Iruka polish the leather of his boots that morning, probably working off his nervousness, just trying to keep busy, his gaze lowered to the ground and not at all falling on Tenzou.

Tenzou knows it isn’t just the summit that’s making nervous.

He knows that his own presence around Iruka’s orbit is a distraction; Tenzou didn’t want to be that distraction, not when this is Iruka’s first important meeting, when he’s representing Konoha, when Iruka takes his duty to the village very seriously.

So for the most part, Tenzou keeps quiet, drawn in, his chakra tightly compressed, a mere shadow when he follows Iruka around the meeting hall, merely nodding politely to the other diplomats and assigned academy delegates, his lips set in a neutral line. Iruka had barely touched anything during breakfast, merely taking a cup of coffee and then some tea, a handful of nuts and dried fruit and a glass of water. When no one is looking, Iruka goes over some notes that he has tucked in small flash cards in his headmaster’s robes.

Tenzou doesn’t understand why Iruka is too nervous. When he thinks that Iruka was born to do this, to be a diplomat, when his words are courteous and polite, smooth and not at all intrusive, always neutral and not once betraying where Konoha’s true opinion stand on matters of the state. Tenzou watches with nothing short of awe and admiration when Iruka fields questions left and right about Konoha’s Hokage, about Konoha’s forces and Konoha’s future generation. He gives vague but seemingly placating responses, even to the insistent ones who seems too keen on getting information out Iruka very tightly sealed lips.

Tenzou always thought Kirigakure’s academy had been a bit of a hardass, peace treaty in pelace or not. Their objective have always been to produce the strongest, most lethal shinobi in any way possible.

Iruka takes Honda, Kirigakure’s towering, broad and intimidating headmaster with a grain of salt and a smile that he firmly keeps plastered on his face. Tenzou watches, however, how Iruka’s pinky finger on both hands twitches with obvious dislike and perhaps, just a touch of irritation at the haughty and outright obnoxious aura Honda is set on filling the room.

It is the first time Tenzou wonders if he should intervene, when Iruka openly and very pointedly looks at the firm, large hand that suddenly reaches out to grasp him by the shoulder, Honda-san stepping into his personal space to whisper something in Iruka’s ear that leaves Iruka blinking slowly, his lips thinning at the cocky expression on Honda face. Iruka’s chin tips upwards just a touch, and Tenzou knows that Iruka is not just irritated at this point, but upset. He comes up with an excuse to lead Iruka away, perhaps to the back of the small stage where the headmasters are to present their values, teaching point and strategy.

But Iruka beats him to it by taking a firm step back and looking at Honda with his most polite expression, lips curled up to a smile that doesn’t quite reach Iruka’s eyes, but make the embers within in glint a lurid, almost dangerous gold. “Honda-san, you have spared me no surprise with your talking points. Now, imagine, I am going to have to hear it a second time again when your turn to present comes. You’ve robbed me of the excitement and for that, I feel short changed, given that this is my first summit.”

Honda seems taken aback by the response and has the decency to flush just a touch, his dusky skin darkening as he rubs the back of his head and laughs rather loudly, if not sheepishly. “I was merely enthused and couldn’t help myself Iruka-san; you’re pleasant company. Forgive me; I hope I don’t bore you though. I do still have many points to share.”

“We shall see,” Iruka responds gently, even though his nose wrinkles in what Tenzou knows is obvious dislike. Something Iruka quickly masks with a smile once more. “Then, Honda-san, if you’ll excuse me, I will be finding a quiet corner to go over my presentation. I am not as seasoned as you are and crowds do make me nervous. Perhaps I’ll see you at the reception.”

And before Honda can say anything else, Iruka bowing deeply at the waist, showing respect to someone far more senior when it comes to experience compared to him before he turns on his heel and removes himself from the tables that had been set up in the corner for the delegates to speak amongst themselves while having tea, coffee and other forms of refreshments.

Iruka finds a quiet corner near the table that’s been labeled for Konoha and their escort. Iruka is flushed to the collar now, trying to keep a tight reign over his expression, something he fails because Tenzou watches as Iruka wrings his hands just _once_ before he pointedly takes a seat, back straight, flash cards placed neatly on the table before him.

“You okay?” Tenzou asks, taking his seat as well. He’s here to mirror Iruka, after all

“I’m fine,” Iruka responds curtly, keeping his gaze trained straight ahead. “I am merely reminded that diplomacy is an art and some individuals simply fail at it.”

“I considered removing you from that situation,” Tenzou offers softly, quietly, their voices barely above a whisper.

“I appreciate that, but I can handle it. Unless someone decides to get violent, you have nothing to worry about, Yamato-san. Words and arrogance are just… that, after all. Harmless unless once raises their hand in an untoward manner,” Iruka says just as quietly, folding his hands on his lap. “I do expect you to stop me, you know? If I decide I can’t tolerate more bullshit. I highly doubt Hokage-sama and the council will approve if their new headmaster decides to punch someone in the face. In front of other diplomats, too.”

Tenzou presses his lips to a thin line, his tongue pushing against his teeth as he tries smother his grin and bemusement. It seems to have failed because Iruka takes one look at him and seems to smile too, dimples dotting his cheeks for the first time since they’ve arrived into the main summit hall. Tenzou has no doubts that if Iruka does lose control of his faculties, it’ll be warranted.

“Don’t worry, Iruka-sensei,” Tenzou responds, training his gaze to the front of the room. “I got your back.”

*

When Iruka’s turn comes to present, Tenzou watches from the corner of the stage as the audience melts to a sea of small smiles and a polite chorus of applause. Iruka walks towards the podium, sets his flash cards down in front of him and presses the button on the podium to display the summarized talking point their administration team had put together to be displayed on the projector. Tenzou watches as Iruka remains stiffed backed, his jaw clenched, and from where he stands, Iruka’s Adam’s apple bobs in what looks like him swallowing his nervousness.

When the applaud dies down, the audience waits for a new breath of air.

Iruka greets them, his voice a touch shaky, something he quickly apologizes for and tucks away behind a joke, admitting to his nervousness, his lack of season and experience and openly displaying a look of sheepishness by rubbing the back of his head and dipping his head politely. Iruka is easily the youngest in the room, save for perhaps Kumogakure’s and Getsugakure’s headmaster. There are a total of fifteen hidden village headmasters present, all of them with varying numbers in their entourage. Some villages like Sunagakure had chosen to send both their headmaster and assistant headmaster to represent their village, with three guards appointed for their safety. Some, like Kusagakure, had chosen not only to send their headmaster and assistant headmaster, but also their teaching department head. It is only Konohagakure, Kirgakure and Kumogakure who had sent their headmasters to the summit. Everyone else didn’t show up alone.

Which may have been one of the reasons Iruka is a bit of a nervous wreck, being suddenly surrounded by strangers and with no one to bounce off his nervousness to. Tenzou would have been more than willing to do that but now, as he stands there and watches Iruka scan the crowd, his lips parted as he takes measured breaths, Tenzou realizes what a terrible idea it had been to be Iruka’s escort. Iruka had been nothing but curt and proper through out their journey, opting to cut himself off from Tenzou’s presence when it comes to revising his work. When years ago, Iruka would ask for Tenzou’s opinion, share the burden with him; Tenzou only provided his field experience if Iruka asked for it. More often than not, when Iruka spoke about his challenges, he simply wanted an ear to listen to him, to flush that negative energy out of his sytem which almost always paves the way for clearer thinking.

But Iruka does none of that with Tenzou _now_.

Why would he even if they had the history?

Even if Tenzou is willing to bend over backwards for Iruka, Iruka had been firm on his stance that they are to be nothing more. He had kept none of Tenzou’s affection near him, opting to give it away, spreading it throughout the academy, with the exception of the pot of chamomile plant. Last night had been an exception, perhaps even a dream, when Iruka had behaved so openly, so unguardedly, up until they finished their meal and the walls had come rising up like the slam of a powerful tsunami, cutting Tenzou off from Iruka’s world, even when Tenzou knows that Iruka is equally affected, equally yearns for him the same way Tenzou does.

Here, now, as Iruka smiles at the crowd and clears his throat, his words dying somewhere in his mouth, Tenzou wants nothing more than to step into the brightly lid stage, take Iruka’s hand in his and squeeze it encouragingly, tell him the words he can never speak, to say _you are born for this, you know the material even with the flash cards, you are a teacher, and there is no one else who can lead the future the academy better than you can. You’re fighting spirit will be the backbone of Konoha’s future generation, just like Naruto. The Hokage knows this, the council knows this and they believe in you. I believe in you. I always have._

But instead, Tenzou says none of that. Not when he’s caught off guard in the space of a heart beat when Iruka turns to look at him all of a sudden, his eyes wide, the flush high on his cheeks, looking absolutely terrified, mute, panic glazing over beautiful, expressive brown eyes that had the power to bring Tenzou to his knees.

 _You’re okay,_ Tenzou signs in field short hand, hidden from the crowd’s eyes. _Pretend it’s just you and me in the room and your practicing your talking points._ Iruka blinks at Tenzou, his lips trembling just a touch. _We’ve done this before, remember?_

Iruka swallows, bites his lower lip and looks back to the crowd, lips parting in a soft exhale, his eyes closing just briefly in a show of remaining calm.

Then Iruka opens his eyes, smiles and speaks like he didn’t at all trip all over his feet just then for less than a minute, that he didn’t just look to Tenzou wanting to run away.

And as Iruka delivers his talking points, Tenzou cannot help but feel a swell of pride fill his lungs, as large a colorful hot air balloon, expanding, expanding, expanding. Iruka is sight to behold, passionate in his words and delivery and when he concludes the speech, when he bows to a crowd who stands and applauds, Iruka’s smile is as bright as the north star.

Tenzou says nothing when Iruka steps out of the stage and embraces him, high from the success of his presentation, grinning widely from ear to ear, cheeks wonderfully flushed that Tenzou cannot help but brush the back of his hand over the warm skin.

“Thank you,” Iruka murmurs, grateful. Gods, so grateful, so beautiful.

“You’re welcome,” Tenzou says, before it all comes crashing down when Iruka realizes what he’s doing, taking a polite step and stammering something about returning to their seats.

It had been a brief touch, Iruka’s hands and body, that is.

But it keeps Tenzou warm for the rest of the cool wintry evening.

*

They retire to the room after a late lunch with the other delegates to prepare for the evening reception. A reception that Tenzou isn’t quite looking forward to because it would mean some tongues may come loose after a drink or two and he can’t exactly do anything untoward either. Tenzou is already a little on edge when it comes to Kirigakure’s Honda, and a little unsure towards Yugagakure’s Watanabe and Kumogakure’s Arashi. Tenzou has spent a good two hours during lunch watching those three eye Iruka up and down like they’re strategizing ways to compromise Iruka’s safety.

And now, as Tenzou secures the last strap of weapon on his back and adjusts the black hakama over his black formal kimono, he is going to have to do the same once more for the rest of the evening. He’s spent all of lunch assessing Honda, Watanabe and Arashi, reading their movements, trying to spot a weakness, but coming up with none. They are three seasoned shinobi, jounin rank from what Tenzou remembers from the briefing. He isn’t sure if any of them served previously in their village’s respective special-ops unit; he wouldn’t be surprised if Honda did. Kirigakure is notorious of having all their jounin serve a mandatory one-year service to their special ops unit for field experience. He isn’t quite sure about Watanabe and the second youngest man in the summit after Iruka, Arashi.

Tenzou sleeks his hair back with pomade and huffs through his nose. Even dressed in black kimono and hakama and looking not at all ostentatious, he still feels ridiculous. The only splash of color on his person is Konoha’s emblem embroidered in red between his shoulder blades, small and just loud enough to let anyone know that he is the appointed guard to Konoha’s diplomat. Being the guard, Tenzou is permitted to keep his happuri on. He slips that into place and turns just in time to find Iruka scowling as he steps out of the connecting bathroom.

And Tenzou has to remember to _breathe_.

Standing in front of the closet mirror and looking quite irritated is Iruka in white tabby socks, and a royal red kimono, held together by a black obi, and a gold dyed leather strap going around it to secure it in place as a decorative piece. The bottom hem of the kimono and its sleeves is hand painted in small flecks of gold leaves, not at all gaudy in its design but flattering, a brush of color breaking the monotony of the rich red silk fabric. On Iruka’s shoulders rests a white hakama, the collar line in black with a gold line running through it and at the bottom, large blooms of hibiscus in dark almost black maroon that is also outlined in gold. Iruka has secured his hair up in a bun, his hand now fussing with what looks like a simple gold kanzashi, something that he sticks into place and then holds his hands to his waist like he’s about to explode in a lecture.

Gods, Iruka is fucking beautiful. A vision. An ethereal being and Iruka has absolutely no clue.

(Iruka never understood just how beautiful he is.)

Suddenly, Tenzou is dreading the reception all together.

“What was the Hokage thinking? This is too much!” Iruka blurts out, huffing as he turns away from the mirror to pull out a pair of black hand made zouri with a red strap. “I didn’t realize that this reception was an excuse to show off Konoha’s silk trade! That was _not_ in the briefing! I look like a damn peacock!”

Tenzou has to _tear_ his gaze away from Iruka, the heat starting to fester and bubble in his veins, turning his back completely to Iruka as he licks his lips and exhales a soft breath. Oh Kakashi knew exactly what he was doing, dangling Iruka like this, making him dress like this, making him look like an invitation to push at Tenzou’s boundaries, the sly bastard. Kakashi had picked the best thing one can dress anyone in, had spared no corners in making Konoha look good, indeed.

And gods, does Iruka look good.

“It’s not so bad,” Tenzou mutters, clearing his throat and hoping that the heat on his cheeks doesn’t betray just how _not bad_ he truly thinks the kimono looks on Iruka.

“I am going to be the most over dressed person in this reception!” Iruka grumps, dropping the tabi by the genkan and slipping his feet into it. “Why couldn’t I have been given something like what you’re wearing? There is elegance in black!”

“Because, Iruka-sensei, the Hokage has good taste and he clearly saw that someone like you would look wonderful in silks,” Tenzou says which seems to put a firm cork to Iruka’s explosive complaints because now, Iruka looks uncomfortable, flushed to the roots of his hair in embarrassment. “Please be careful of Kirigakure, Yugogakure and Kumogakure, Iruka-sensei. They seem to have developed some personal interest in you. And when you look like that…”

Tenzou allows his gaze to brush over Iruka’s body, eyeing from head to toe, relishing in the vision before him that would no doubt keep him so very warm for many nights to come. He swallows and doesn’t continue the sentence, choosing instead of rip his gaze away from Iruka once more, and lead the way to the reception, Iruka silently following his shadow.

*

When they arrive, there is a brief pause in chatter when all eyes turn to look at Iruka’s arrival. Tenzou has no idea what Iruka had been worried about when clearly, upon reaching the reception hall, Iruka is proven wrong by the state of everyone else’s dress. It turns out that Iruka isn’t at all underdressed. Everyone, with the exception of the delegated guards on duty, is dressed in the finest silk and fabric, some even sporting a bit of a train like Kamurigakure’s Himari, a middle aged woman who carries herself well in her off shoulder royal purple and silver kimono. Kakashi must have been given intel on what to do because Iruka fits right in.

The glow of the golden lights overhead makes Iruka seem otherworldly, as he goes around greeting everyone politely, engaging in polite pleasantries and conversation that is not related to business at all, but a bit more personal. Now, Iruka is standing before Amagakure’s old and sun spotted Akari, the lines of her face deep but her eyes still sharp, who is decked in deep plum and gold, a scarf sitting on her shoulder for added warmth.

“You must be Konoha’s youngest headmaster; I have seen three in my tenure and Iruka-san, you are by far the most passionate and confident. Konoha’s future is bright under your guidance,” Akari says, taking Iruka’s hands in hers and patting it with encouragement, nodding quite proud.

“Akari-san, you are too kind; I am only doing what is expected of me,” Iruka responds, soft and polite. But Tenzou can see how the compliment seems to hit deeper, because Iruka is chewing his lower lip. He is embarrassed at the attention.

“There is that of course,” Akari agrees, nodding. “But your will of fire burns strong. I can only hope that my successor is half as good as you, Iruka-san.”

“Akari-san, are you looking to retire?” Iruka blinks.

“This may be my last year; I am old, Iruka-san and I think after this, with our current peace, I would like to spend what little time I may have left with my great grandchildren~” Akari laughs, jovial, warm, proud as she seems to be thinking of said great grand children.

“How many do you have?” Iruka asks, dimples dotting his cheeks, looking so wonderful as he takes a drink from a tall glass being circulated and hands one to Akari.

“Oh, about a dozen now,” Akari says, laughing, her cheeks dusting with pink as she shakes her head and proceeds to talk about her grand children.

This is a conversation Tenzou doesn’t mind listening to. There is nothing untoward about Amagakure’s Akari. She doesn’t eye Iruka up and down, she speaks from heart about her family and is full of praise and advise about handling diplomacy. They are in the middle of talking about the presentation the year before, when Kirigakure’s Honda approaches them, looking quite sharp and just as intimidating in his kimono of dark blues and old glory blues.

“Iruka-sensei, you didn’t disclose your ability to charm a room with not only your speech, but your presence as well,” Honda says, bowing deeply and locking gazes with Iruka, pointedly looking at him without even bothering to disguise his sub textual and very loud declaration of, _you look gorgeous_.

“Honda-san, you don’t look too shabby yourself,” Iruka calmly responds, even when Tenzou sees his throat bob once in a show of discomfort.

“Believe me, Iruka-sensei, we _all_ look shabby next to you. May I offer you a drink? Do you mind, Akari-sensei?” Honda asks.

“Oh go,” Akari says, waving her hand. “You young ones enjoy the evening. This old lady’s hips are tired and requires a seat. Tell me, have you seen Yui-sensei by any chance, Honda-sensei?”

“Ah, I believe she is over—“ Honda turns towards the opposite corner of the room and points at Yukigakure’s entourage. “—there. By the window, Akari-sensei.”

Akari nods and gives Iruka’s shoulder a warm, encouraging pat and squeeze. “I hope to see you before you depart tomorrow, Iruka-sensei!”

“Likewise, Akari-sensei,” Iruka says, with an obvious pinched expression, his eyes meeting Tenzou just briefly in a silent look of _, here we go_ , before he smiles politely at Honda.

Tenzou sucks a quiet breath and trails after them, listening to Honda go on and on about the possibility of exchange posting, about wanting Iruka to visit Kirigakure, all while subtly brushing his hands on the small of Iruka’s back, over his elbow, as he takes him across the room and introduces him to the others, his hand, much to Tenzou’s irritation lingering far too long on Iruka’s person.

Tenzou has never felt a stronger urge to snap that tanned hand in ten different ways, break every bone and cartilage in Honda’s hand that he, quite frankly, should keep this fucking self, especially when Iruka is already actively stepping away from it.

Iruka more than once has looked over towards Tenzou, as if to silently ask, _why can’t this obnoxious person disappear?_

(Tenzou would gladly, _willingly,_ slit Honda’s throat in a heartbeat, if only it wouldn’t cause a political uproar.)

*

Tenzou didn’t think there would be a bigger headache than Honda up until Arashi shows up.

Arashi has no issues stepping and leaning against Iruka. Arashi had no issues draping his arm around Iruka’s shoulder when he tells him a joke, leaning far to close to Iruka’s ear, looking into Iruka’s eyes from under the fall of his dark lashes. Arashi is young, probably no more than a year older than Iruka, with a sharp jaw and slender frame, long limbs and lean muscle. He has a head of wild auburn hair, hooded deep dark gray eyes and a roguish grin that is undoubtedly handsome, if not a little cheeky.

He has, much to Tenzou’s irritation, successfully made Iruka laugh a total of _three_ times. A real laugh. Not one of those fake, polite ones Iruka has been showing Honda, the one he tucks behind a fist. This is a laugh that tears itself out of Iruka’s throat, surprised and just a tone higher than his usual conversing voice, something that makes Iruka blink and bring a hand up quickly to his mouth, all a show of composure and proper decorum.

This continues painfully all through out dinner. Tenzou knows Iruka’s weakness for corny and witty jokes, knows his weakness for good storytelling and how Iruka can relate to a lot of rambunctious behavior being a complete unruly prankster during his youth. Iruka understands inside jokes if only because he constantly makes them with his friends. He used to do the same with Tenzou, once upon a time ago, where they`d chuckle over some of Naruto`s antics, where they have joked about the way they met, over some of Iruka`s friends, too and to a point, Kakashi.

They had even called Sasuke Team Seven`s delicate constitution.

Except that one didn`t last too long. Shortly after, Tenzou had left Iruka to be with Kakashi.

Iruka is laughing again, this time tucking his face behind his palms, his elbows propped on the table and is shaking his head when Arashi and Honda decides to get into a contest on who can make Iruka laugh the most with their wit.

Tenzou stands there, against the wall, watching Iruka flush while his charming dimples dot his cheeks, wishing he could be reason to make him smile like that, laugh like that, that he`d be brave enough to not just send flowers behind Iruka`s back, leaving it for him to find on his desk. That he`d be as fucking bold as Honda who unabashedly places a hand on Iruka`s shoulder, or Arashi to rubs Iruka`s back when he snorts into his cup of sake. He wishes to be the man who can seat next to Iruka as his equal, to be the one to continuously poor his drinks and talk about things so openly, without worrying about Iruka`s emotional state, without worrying about his sins of the past, of how he had crushed Iruka`s trust to fine dust, without having walls upon walls between him and Iruka when they stand so close and yet feel like there are worlds between them.

Something crashes and Tenzou snaps on attention when he realizes that Honda has knocked over a jar of sake, well on his way to being drunk that his guard steps into intervene. Tenzou finds himself exhaling, his chakra like the other guards calming to a dull thrum when Honda bumbles his good night, and very pointedly grasps Iruka by the chin, tilting Iruka`s head up to meet his gaze.

Tenzou is stepping forward, ready to truly break that offending hand in five different places, make bone protrude from flesh if he has to when he stops in his tracks when Iruka very pointedly tips his chin away, short of just wrenching it free from Honda`s grasp, his smile taking a sharper edge as he blocks any further advances by bring a glass of water to his lips and pointedly wishing Honda well on his health, to drink plenty of water or it may be a miserable journey back to Kirigakure.

Tenzou is forced to take in a sharp breath, his feet retreating back to his post by the wall, as Honda laughs boisterously and retreats for the evening with the help of his guard.

It had been naïve for Tenzou to think that just because Honda is gone, it means that the night over.

*

They are discussing personal matters now. They are talking about family, about settling down, and Arashi is absolutely taken by the sight of Iruka’s flushed mouth, listening to Iruka with rapt attention respond to Arashi’s earlier question of him wanting children.

“I think you’d have beautiful children, Iruka-sensei. Which really wouldn’t be surprising considering their father is quite, and forgive me for being candid, gorgeous,” Arashi says, the words coming out sheepish, as he waves a hand in the wake of Iruka’s sudden flush.

“That is quite forward of you, Arashi-sensei; how did we get to talking about wanting children and how I look so fast, I wonder,” Iruka says, his words dripping with just a whisper sarcasm that isn’t enough to be called rude.

Tenzou hopes that Iruka’s fingers are twitching. They better be twitching with irritation because if they’re not, then that would mean that Iruka is enjoying the praise and attention.

And Tenzou isn’t sure how he should feel about that.

“I can’t help it when your company, hands down, has been the greatest thing about this summit,” Arashi admits. “Are you attached, Iruka-sensei?”

“Yes,” Iruka says, an out right lie, the smart response given the advances, when Tenzou knows Iruka is not attached at all.

“She is a lucky woman, then,” Arashi picks up his sake cup.

Iruka doesn’t deem that with a response, nor does he bother to correct it. Instead, he picks up his sake cup and pointedly downs a full cup in one swig. Maybe he drinks it too fast, or maybe he’s had a little more than he should for the evening, but Iruka grasps the edge of the table and sucks in a deep breath, turning to smile at Arashi and decides to cut his social stay now that the reception is more or less over, short.

“I think I’m going to turn it for the night, Arashi-sensei. It’s been an absolute pleasure being in your company alongside Honda-san, this evening. It’s always a wonderful thing to hear other people’s experiences as headmaster,” Iruka says, carefully getting on his feet.

Except he miscalculates how he stands and ends up stepping on his kimono hem. The result is immediate because Arashi has an arm around Iruka’s waist and shoulder, catching him and steadying him, their noses almost touching.

“Let me walk you to your quarters, Iruka-sensei,” Arashi says, his voice low, lilting, a sharp smile tugging around the corners his lips.

A smile that Iruka jerks away from, politely placing a firm hand on Arashi’s forearms and pushing him back. Except Arashi doesn’t let go.

“My guard is with me, Arashi-sensei. He will be escorting me to my room. But thank you for your concern on my wellbeing,” Iruka warns, the words firm, but still polite.

“My conscience will be at ease tonight if I can be sure you reach your quarters without a problem, Iruka-sensei,” Arashi insists.

And just had to pull Iruka flushed against his chest. Arashi just had to press the hand that had been on Iruka’s hip onto the small of Iruka’s back, despite Iruka’s very obvious and pointed reluctance and refusal. Arashi just had to make Iruka look up at his expression with a bit of wild panic, his pupils blowing wide, lips parting in breath as Iruka’s gaze flicks right and left on how to best diffuse the situation without creating scene.

Tenzou had no problems with any of that.

He is beside Iruka in a blink of an eye, faster than Arashi’s guards, pointedly grabbing the hand that had been on the small of Iruka’s back in a vice, _ripping_ it off Iruka and pushing it backwards, away from Iruka’s body, Iruka’s aura and all the way back to Arashi’s person where his hands should have remained the entire time.

“He said _no_ ,” Tenzou says, his voice firm, sharp, _dangerous_ , a threat all rolled into one.

Arashi’s guards have their weapons drawn, only for it to be tucked away when Arashi holds up a hand to stay his guards just as Tenzou releases his bruising hold on Arashi’s wrist. It’ll mark for days, no doubt.

Arashi is a smart man and knows when not to push because he directs his gaze at Iruka who has gone incredibly quiet and bows his head.

Tenzou takes that as his queue to grab Iruka by shoulders and very promptly escort him out of the hall.

*

Once the door shuts behind them, Iruka shrugs off Tenzou’s hold angrily and snaps.

“That was completely unnecessary, I had it under control!”

Tenzou locks the door and activates the wards he had put up earlier, waiting for the room to cloak itself before he faces Iruka’s blazing anger with his own. “I have no doubts you did, Iruka-sensei, which is why he didn’t listen to you.”

“I was trying to avoid a scene, Tenzou! Which you just caused! Thank you for that, by the way, now the entire summit is going to think that Konoha’s youngest diplomat can’t handle a little social heat!” Iruka throws his hands up in the air and huffs in a show of utter disgust.

The words are out of Tenzou’s mouth in a fit of irritation that he’s been trying to squash all night before he can stop it. “He had his hands all over you.”

Iruka turns at that, something burning in his gaze. “You are acting like it’s your first time to be an escort in a formal political gathering! This happens! You know this better than I do! I had it under control!”

“No you didn’t,” Tenzou responds, cold and firm, resolutely not believing a word that is tumbling out of Iruka’s mouth because if Iruka had it under control, he wouldn’t have to tolerate the conversation with a Arashi after Honda left. Not even a minute longer. “You lost balance in your conversation the moment Honda left.”

“I had it under control,” Iruka repeats, his hands coming to rest on the small reception table, balled into fist and white knuckled. “And who do you think you are to make that call?”

“Someone who knows you,” Tenzou hisses, shaking of his hakama and walking past Iruka towards the bed, where he carefully folds it in half and drapes it over the mattress.

“You’re actually using that card in this conversation?” Iruka asks, incredulous, almost mocking. “You’re dragging your personal feelings into the mission? _You_? _Tenzou_ _buntaichou_?”

Tenzou snaps the holster of his blade, grinding his jaw and gritting his teeth as he tosses the blade and waist strap on to the mattress. He turns to snap a response back at Iruka’s question, only to stop when he sees Iruka bringing his hands to his face, shaking his head and turning around giving Tenzou his back and moving to his side of the bed. Whatever fight that had been in Tenzou turns to ash when he catches the glisten of frustrated salt around the corners of Iruka’s eyes.

“I didn’t ask for this assignment,” Tenzou says softly.

“You could have fucking fooled me,” Iruka hisses under his breath, keeping his head turned as he reaches up to his hair and _yanks_ the decorative kanzashi off.

Something about that response digs into the softest parts of Tenzou. It shatters something, leaving his stomach swooping inwards with nausea, and a realization that this is just not going anywhere. That he and Iruka are just never going to be anything anymore.

Regret and a hurt like no other drowns out everything, as Tenzou stands there watching Iruka take out his clothes to change into, Iruka who looks like he’s trying his best to keep things civil by remaining quiet and avoiding Tenzou’s gaze.

“You’ve made your point loud and clear, Iruka,” Tenzou says, bringing his hands up, defeat weight him down, like lead weights dragging him to the deepest and darkest parts of the ocean. “You don’t want anything to do with me. I hear you. You giving away everything I’ve given you these past months should have been my clue. I apologize—“

“Don’t even think for one fucking moment that I am going to believe a word out of your mouth. You are not sorry! You are _selfish_ ,” Iruka snaps, tossing his pants and shirt on the bed with a jerk and crossing the space between them, each sentence earning a step forward until he’s just an arm’s width away from Tenzou.” You’re not the only one in this equation who knows the other well, Tenzou! How did you think I felt when I saw you and Hokage-sama walking down the streets in Konoha, together, _happy_? How do you think I felt when I had to stand there in front of Hokage-sama, every single time, for every single meeting and briefing and remember how it was his weakness that robbed me of the love of my life? Did you think I didn’t want to rip you away from him? That I didn’t want to shove him as far as possible, away from _you_? Did you think that I didn’t resent him, just the tiniest bit, even though it wasn’t his fault! Did you think it’s been easy for me?

“No, it hasn’t. But you certainly don’t see me grabbing Hokage-sama by his fucking wrist, hard enough to bruise! You don’t see me causing a public scene, let a lone a political one!” Iruka throws his hands up in the air in frustration, punctuating the sentence with the gesture.

Tenzou is stunned by the outburst, and recovers quick enough to form an opinion that Iruka’s pride is hurt and stung by Tenzou’s inability to keep his feelings to himself.

“I should have let him escort you then,” Tenzou quips, lips twisting to a disgusted sneer.

“And it shouldn’t matter to you if he did!” Iruka _roars_. “Because that’s what it means to serve a mission. The mission comes first! It always has. Before anything personal and you, of all people, are the breathing, living example of that—“

Tenzou’s hand is on Iruka’s collar, grabbing him and yanking him forward, ready to snap his neck to silence for dragging that part of him to the light, for exposing the softest part of him to the open like this, when he’s spent years trying to bury it. Maybe a part of Tenzou never could, and maybe that had been the reason he could never be truly happy with Kakashi; only content. Maybe it’s because he knows the weight of what he had done, how he had robbed someone of their soul, their better half, by a choice he made in good faith and blind obedience.

Maybe it’s because Iruka let him, too.

Because Iruka knows duty, doesn’t he?

Something shatters inside of Tenzou, leaving his chest heaving as he stares into Iruka’s eyes, at the hair that has come loose from the earlier cruel tug of the kanzashi, the fight in him razor sharp, his chakra threatening to bubble over and spill into action. Iruka is flushed, warm, his breath heavy through parted lips, anger painting his neck a soft crimson, loose hair framing his beautiful face that even like this, even now in the middle of them arguing still about the past, Iruka still looks so incredibly beautiful.

It’s cruel. Kakashi is cruel in all his good intentions.

Tenzou should have never been Iruka’s guard at all.

(But would you have trusted Iruka’s safety with anyone else? No, right?)

“Let go,” Iruka says hotly, callously, angrily. Tenzou’s gaze drops to the bottom tiers of Iruka’s lips, captivated by the demand that had just rolled past it. “ _Let go_ , shinobi-san.”

Tenzou does, releasing his hold on silk and grinding his teeth. Unable to stop himself, he coldly and mockingly says, “Political diplomacy, Iruka-sensei, doesn’t always mean spreading your legs.”

The resounding slap _echoes_ in the room

Tenzou finds himself facing to the side, the sting on the side of his face _burning_. Iruka’s palm had come down hard, with the intention to hurt, backed by years of pain and a bruised ego that is all tenzou's doing. Tenzou’s jaw is left hanging slack in the wake of it's brutal force.

He turns to look at Iruka, his eyes wide, well aware that he had deserved that for the cold, irrational and illogical expression of his emotions, of the painful pinch under his ribcage. He watches Iruka heave breath after breath, as he stares on in horror and shame and gods, there is just so much hurt in Iruka's eyes.

Tenzou hates it.

Hates this sight of Iruka.

Hates that he has made him look like this, shoulder hunched and small and unsteady, flushed and so incredibly and unfairly hurt, his integrity questioned when all this time, it’s been Tenzou who was at fault. Tenzou who’s been selfish. Tenzou who cannot stop the roar of a beast under his ribcage when he had to stand there and watch a virtual stranger put their horrible hands on Iruka.

Tenzou who can’t stop loving Iruka even if he tried.

And then Iruka is in Tenzou’s arms, his mouth on Tenzou’s, hot and hungry, tongue pushing past the tiers of Tenzou’s lips, tracing the line of Tenzou’s teeth, that parts openly, hungrily, Tenzou’s arms wrapping around Iruka’s shoulders and middle, fingers grasping the silken hakama and _yanking_ it off Iruka’s shoulders.

It pools to the ground in a flutter of cool silk, quickly followed by Tenzou’s hand giving the obi knot a sharp and vicious iIt pools to the ground in a flutter of cool silk, quickly followed by Tenzou’s hand giving the obi knot a sharp and vicious _yank_ , undoing the leather knot and layers of silk, making Iruka’s hips arch against his as Iruka’s fingers cards through his hair, grasping at the strands in a vice, a desperate grip.

“I wanted to marry you,” Tenzou hotly whispers. “I wanted to be with you. Just _you_.”

The obi comes loose, Tenzou flinging it to the side as Iruka _sobs_ a breath, head arching upwards to the ceiling, Tenzou's name a garble of broken and stuttered syllables, as Tenzou teeth sinks against his neck, leaving a scarlet mark on soft skin, tracing a hot tongue over the bite.

“I don’t know how to stop loving you.” Tenzou admits, undoing the knots securing the kimono collar in place, pushing red silk off Iruka’s shoulders and shrugging off the sleeve of his kimono too, when Iruka’s hands pushes it off his shoulders. “I was going to commit to you before Kakashi…”

That seems to stop Iruka’s hands because Iruka sinks to his knees and buries his face in hands, weeping in earnest, heart breaking all over again, as Tenzou kneels before him and pries those hands off his face. Iruka is shaking his head, telling him no, no, please no, but Tenzou doesn’t abandon him. Not this time.

“I love you, Umino Iruka,” Tenzou says, the words brushing over Iruka’s lips that tremble with a sob. “I love you and I would marry you, commit to you in a heartbeat if you would just give me another chance to prove it to you this time...”

“You lie, you lie, you lie!” Iruka’s fists comes down on Tenzou’s chest, a drum beat to each accusation of being a liar, only stopping when Tenzou tucks Iruka’s face against the crook of his neck in a protective hold, gathering him in his arms and muffling the sob that _rips_ past Iruka’s throat, silence only by Tenzou gentle hush. “ _Stop lying to me_!”

“I’m not lying to you,” Tenzou says, the words buried in Iruka’s hair. “I could never lie to you. Not then and not now…”

Because if he had been able to lie to Iruka, he would have never told Iruka about the Godaime’s command.

Iruka knows this, his accusation a mere mechanism of self defense, his body’s automatic response to protect himself from further harm.

Iruka weeps in Tenzou’s arms, small and weak, tired and worn and Tenzou lets him have his moment of weakness, selfishly keeping a strong hold on the bare body of the love of his life, until dawn begins to creep over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a very unexpected turn. It did not go according to my plan.
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> Who got a little teary eyed? No? Just me? I'm a loser anyway when it comes to cheesy sap.


	12. xii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

The sunrise casts the warmest hues of the rainbow through the partially opened window, where the chiffon drapes dances lazily with gentle breeze the sunshine drags along. Lying there in the middle of Tenzou’s side of the room, Tenzou doesn’t dare move a muscle, his hold around Iruka’s middle firm, Iruka’s soft breaths a steady comforting rhythm against his throat, soft and tired, lips brushing against the hollow of Tenzou’s neck. Tenzou finds himself staring at tangerine rocky mountain peaks beyond the semi-transparent drapes, watching as it gloves gold as the sun brightens the sky, pushing twilight out of the way, blushing the rocky tips, clouds moving in shoals in the gradually bluing sky. Once upon a time ago, Tenzou lay like this, his head craned upwards as he watches the sunrise through the window above Iruka’s headboard. The stillness of those moments would always make Tenzou’s toes curl just a little deeper under the covers, his breaths exhaling a joy he didn’t think his body would be capable of feeling, all while his fingers would fiddle with a long lock of rich, lustrous brown hair. He’d loose time just lying there, listening to Iruka breath, twirling that lock of hair around his finger, minutes turning to hours. Sometimes he’d drift off to a light sleep, only to rouse when Iruka would adjust the position of his cheek on his chest or arm, or if Iruka’s leg that is thrown over Tenzou would slide upwards for a little more warmth, seeking the comfortable coziness of their cocooned warmth under Iruka’s duvet.

It’s almost a lifetime ago in numbers.

But here, now, in this very moment, it feels like only yesterday. It feels like Tenzou had been away from the village, on a too-long assignment, duty putting distance between him and the love of his life who now, as sunshine warms the covers of their shared blanket, stirs awake, eyelids fluttering open, inhaling through parted lips.

And just like that, the spell is broken, when Iruka pushes away and sits up, his shoulders tense under the long fall of his hair. Iruka had fallen asleep just a little before dawn, right into Tenzou’s arms in his moment of utter weakness, deep and undisturbed. But now, the walls are all back up, as Iruka gathers his hair to one side, one hand fisting on the mattress and covers, the sight of him trying so, so hard, making everything in Tenzou ache when just moments ago, Iruka had been open, unguarded, comforted and safe in the circle of his arms that now feels so traitorously empty.

(Even holding Kakashi WAS never been the same as holding Iruka.)

“Iruka…” Tenzou murmurs, sitting up and tentatively pressing his hands on the curve of Iruka’s shoulders. Tenzou follows the trails of goosebumps breaking over Iruka’s skin, watches it crawl down the length of his back, disappearing under the waistband of his boxers.

“I am afraid,” Iruka admits, soft, barely above a whisper. “I can’t, Tenzou…”

“This is my fault,” Tenzou says, as everything in him seizes up when he watches Iruka bring a hand to cover his mouth, Iruka’s face crumpling as fresh tears wells up around the corners of his eyes. Tenzou is on the ground, kneeling before Iruka’s knees, hands on Iruka’s legs as Tenzou shakes his head at this fresh display of shattered grief, brushing the tears away with his fingers. “Please don’t cry… _please_ …”

“I’m not mad that you left me Tenzou, you had your reasons, and they happened. It is what it is,” Iruka says, gravel in is voice, his hands falling limply to the sides of the bed as he chews his lower lip and leans into the warmth of Tenzou’s palms. “I am upset that I can’t believe you anymore, and I don’t what to do about that. So it isn’t entirely your fault. Not _now_ anyway… and for that, I am sorry.”

They say only the mighty can bear defeat.

But Tenzou wasn’t built for defeat. He wasn’t trained to be pushed down the ground, to be broken, shattered. He wasn’t schooled to simply take the blows and allow his body to be beaten, to render him powerless. He was trained to stand and stand and stand, always standing, until his lungs can carry no breath, his heart stops beating, always pursuing victory for the sake of the mission because that is his reason of existing, that is his sole objective. He’s been told that just because he faces the possibility of defeat, it does not mean he is defeated.

His training, his experience, his will to keep fighting a battle that he is clearly losing, however, in this very moment, as he watches the tears carve down Iruka’s flushed cheeks, as he allows Iruka to grasp his hands, watches Iruka’s knuckles go bone white with how desperate his hold is around Tenzou’s fingers, Tenzou swallows and feels the last bit of air escape his lungs.

This is worse than defeat.

Worse than death.

He had thought that perhaps, loftily, ambitiously, _hopefully_ , that something brighter may come out of having Iruka spend the night in his arms. He had thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , like a fucking, inexperienced _child_ with cheeks still full of innocence, that perhaps tomorrow would bring a brighter dawn. That maybe they had gotten somewhere, having said what must be said, having laid down some of their insecurities, admitting to the bitterness out loud.

He had thought.

When he really shouldn’t have.

Having an opinion about his objectives never served him well on the field. Tenzou knows this from experience. Having an opinion means one has formed some sort of bond or attachment, regardless of how small or weak it may be. A bond is still a bond. And when it comes to Iruka, Tenzou knows his attachment to him is the strongest.

Here, in this moment, Tenzou realizes as everything in him just plummets to the core of the earth and goes still, as his hands fall limp in Iruka’s grasp, that this is what death must feel like - it's a void of _nothing_. Tenzou was taught to never fear death, only understand that death is failure. Because dying in the middle of a mission means you have not completed your objective.

So here, Tenzou kneels in death, in this all encopassing blackness, his objective at earning Iruka’s trust a total failure. Here, his blood goes cold, his heart slows down, his breath coming out even, deep, the air tasting of ash instead of the smell of orange and cinnamon that has become the smell of home, of Konoha. To Tenzou anyway.

Here he bows his head, closes his eyes, as Iruka sobs reaches a decibel of desperation that falls to his deafened ears, his limbs tired and heavy, like lead wanting to sink to the depths of the earth, to rot and disintegrate to nothing. Tenzou doesn’t die with peace in his heart but with regret that wraps around his throat like jagged vines, squeezing the last of his will to live, leaving behind nothing but a shell of an existence, a weapon, the last of his humanity exhaled to the air because, _I get it, I do. I left you in the worst way possible. Why would you trust a man like me, even if I haven’t, not once, lied to you? What value does any of my truth even have when at the end of the day, commitment remains a choice? I chose my village over you and destroyed what faith you had in me. And now, with the tables turned, I can’t help by wonder if you felt this way, all those years ago, when I told you I must return to Kakashi, that I must take care of him, that he needs me._

But Tenzou says none of that, seeing no significance in words anymore. Because words and actions are two different things and when you are shinobi, Tenzou knows that words are but a jagged knife that can cut the deepest of wounds. I love you, Tenzou had said. I wanted to marry you, Tenzou had said. When it matters not when in the end, his feet carried him to Kakashi and not Iruka. You don’t leave to commit. You just need loyalty, respect and trust – three things Tenzou always had for Kakashi. Three things that apparently, at the end of the day, he denied Iruka.

The man that Tenzou so calls is the love of his life.

Tenzou nods, finally realizing that he has no one to blame but himself. That it is he who has walked into his own death, that his skills and power were never enough to defeat this, to win this. That his value as a man, as a shinobi, amounts to nothing in the wake of all this. So he grasps Iruka’s hand, brings it to his lips, perhaps for the final time, perhaps as a goodbye, swallowing past the taste of decaying earth at the base of his throat, as Iruka sobs harder, gods, just a mess that even in Tenzou’s last breath of living as he segues to a mere existence, he is still bringing grief to Iruka.

And Tenzou whispers, “I understand…”

*

They journey back to Konoha like muted sentinels, following the pace set by the other, crossing land and borders for the next three days. They reach Konoha by late evening, their boots crunching on fresh snow as they walk at a more sedate pace from the gates towards the Hokage tower, where they deliver their briefing in soft tones and gets thanked by Kakashi for all their hard work and effort.

Tenzou keeps his gaze at a spot on Kakashi’s desk, as Kakashi tells Iruka how proud he is of him, his performance, that truly, he echoes the sentiments of many others when he says that Konoha’s young future is bright under Iruka’s command of the academy. Tenzou doesn’t look at Iruka when Iruka bows politely, nor does he say a word when Iruka asks to be dismissed. Iruka is the first to depart from the office, his departure taking with it the last bit of warmth that had filled the cluttered with paperwork space, and with it, Tenzou’s last and final inhale of orange and cinnamon, his home.

“No problems?” Kakashi asks.

“No.” Tenzou blinks, his hands lax by his sides.

“And how were the both of you?” Kakashi prompts, his tone gentle, kind, perhaps hopeful.

Tenzou deems with a response that he thinks is adequate within the parameters of the mission. It had been, after all, quite a successful summit. “Well. He did very well. He is very skilled in diplomacy. You’ve chosen a good headmaster.”

A frown crosses Kakashi’s features, a bit of disappointment knitting a furrow between his eyebrows. “That’s not what I’m asking…”

Tenzou knows exactly what Kakashi is asking but can’t seem to find the words to form a proper answer. Suddenly, Kakashi is standing from his seat and Tenzou realizes that maybe his expression betrays it, him letting go of the living, that is. His reflection certainly shows it, a lackluster gleam in his eyes that is still soldier sharp, still a weapon that is capable of calculating chakra energy blows, strategy and distance, where to hit the hardest to take his target down. But the will behind it, the will to keep coming home, it’s probably what's missing and what Kakashi notices has died out.

(What's the point of coming home if he isn't coming home to Iruka, anymore? When even the reason he had left Iruka in the first place doesn't even want him, too?)

And Tenzou can’t make himself seem to care anymore when Kakashi’s chair scrapes further back, when Kakashi rounds the table and comes to stand in front him, reaching forward with his hands to cup Tenzou’s face with a look of utter concern, lines appearing along the corners of his eyes, his lips parted in concerned wonder under the mask. Not when Tenzou’s heartbeat remains a constant, slow, steady rhythm. Eerily calm.

“I’m tired senpai,” Tenzou admits. “May I be excused?”

“Tenzou…”

“Enough.” Tenzou murmurs, whisper soft. “Please. _Enough_.”

Kakashi’s hands drop down slowly, Tenzou unable to feel the warmth of those gloved palms, as he takes Kakashi nod as his agreement to Tenzou’s request.

Tenzou takes a step back, from Kakashi’s presence, his patience, his understanding and turns to leave to return to an existence that Danzou had been right to instill in all his students all along.

No past, no present, no future.

*

Early spring comes with a busy schedule as Naruto and Hinata’s wedding approaches, something that Iruka welcomes with open arms because it keeps him on his toes, keeps him thinking of the present, of the summit, of Teznou. It keeps him thinking of more important objectives to tackle rather than the festering wound under his ribs that stubbornly refuses to heal.

(After all this time. After all these years.)

Iruka welcomes Naruto’s request for assistance, wanting nothing more than to provide any sort of help he can, given that he’s never been a father, never been bestowed a more important role such as this, and never really been to wedding this important. Half the time, between helping Naruto form opinions on furniture and going through a list of things Hinata has tasked Naruto to complete in terms of purchasing household appliances – lamps, lightbulbs, rugs, towels, nothing too difficult. Iruka had a feeling that Hinata had given Naruto the list to encourage him to be more involved with setting up their house.

There is also the matter of tailoring the ceremonial wedding kimono and Iruka’s own formal attire.

The whole process takes two weeks of Iruka’s evening time.

They spend everyday as soon Iruka’s shift at the mission desk is over plowing through the stores and streets of Konoha, making their way down the list and have a trail of Naruto’s kagebunshins carry boxes and bags in a neat trail that children of the academy would be envious of. Iruka helps Naruto pack up his apartment, which really means throwing away a lot of old junk that Naruto has collected over the years, segregating the ones he can still keep and the ones he should donate. That also means taking down the posters, the drapes, finally getting rid of the rice cooker and toaster that stopped working years ago and some of Naruto’s very worn and old shoes.

On another day, they scrub the apartment clean, keeping it ready for a proper handover back to the landlord. They end their evening sitting on clean wooden floors, unpacking the electric kettle they are to donate to the orphanage for the final time and feasting on two cup ramen each under the glow of the halogen lightbulb overhead, something that Naruto didn’t even bother to purchase a cover for, despite how many times Iruka had told him.

“Tomorrow is the final fit for your kimono and my suit; we can go right away as soon as I’m done at the desk,” Iruka says, tucking into his cup ramen and slurping a mouthful of noodles.

“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t forget! I’ll be at the usual spot!” Naruto responds through a mouthful of noodles.

Iruka’s lips thin at the picture Naruto presents and rolls his eyes. “You are never going to change.”

“It’s worked so far in my favor!” Naruto _grins_ , toothy and almost fox-like, which earns him a snort. “What? You know it’s true.”

Iruka _sighs_ , shaking his head. Naruto was never the type to hide his personality. Iruka has always known that Hinata’s attraction and love for Naruto has been there from the very beginning; it gives him the greatest comfort that Hinata has chosen Naruto for who and what he is, that there is no agenda behind her love, nothing short of true commitment and loyalty.

It is a blessing to be loved like that. To be chosen like that.

And if there is anyone who deserves the _world_ , it is Naruto.

“I’ve never told you this enough, but I am very proud of the man you’ve grown up to be, Naruto,” Iruka says, a swell of affection filling his chest, making his voice thick as he stirs his chopsticks in the broth of his cup ramen. “It doesn’t feel that long ago when you were asking for extra credit to pass your classes in the academy.”

“I owe all that to you, you know,” Naruto says, pausing to only drink the broth of his ramen before he sets down the empty plastic cup on the ground, picking up the next one. “You acknowledged me when no one else did. You are the only father I know, even though, now, I know who my parents are. Have spoken to them. Heard them. But Iruka-sensei, you are my dad. You always have been.”

Iruka looks up at that, caught off guard by the sudden candidness and honesty of those words. He’s always known that he had been more of a father figure to Naruto, has come to accept that with the greatest and most welcomed honor. But to be told so bluntly, to be placed at what sounds like a higher pedestal than that of his own parents, Iruka is stunned.  
  
“I mean, I’m not saying that I don’t care about my parents. I _do_. I love them. They mean everything to me, of course. But they weren’t here to bring me my first birthday cake. They weren’t there to take me to the spring festival. Or help me with my homework. They weren’t the one who bought me my first yukata and zouri, or help me cut out all those art paper for the academy projects – remember those, Iruka-sensei? I hated doing them but you helped me! They weren’t there to help me learn how to read and write better. Or even cook a home cooked meal for me. It wasn’t them who took me to the beach for the first time in the summer. Or have cold watermelon on the balcony like the other kids with their families. Or how about that time when we first went to the onsen up north? Remember that? Or when you sometimes took me to the bathhouse and we drank cold milk after? It wasn’t them, Iruka-sensei. That was all you.

“I love my dad so much, but… he’s not here, you know? And neither is my mom. They never were. But you are… the entire time…” Naruto trails off, his voice soft, his hands stilling in its stir of his ramen broth and noodles. “I made you proud didn’t I, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka has to blink repeatedly, swallowing past a large knot in his throat, turning his gaze to the side as he clears the film of salt in his eyes. They trickle down his cheeks anyway, forcing him to bring the heel of his palm under his lashes, brushing them away quickly, feeling worthy, wanted, needed and _someone_ for the first time in years. To be valued more than just a teacher, more than just a shinobi, another cog in the wheel dedicated to duty, servitude and patriotism. Iruka swallows past a small sob-chuckle, as he shakes his head and chews on his lower lip, turning to look at the quiet expression on Naruto’s face, the open vulnerability there, and suddenly, it’s like Naruto is five again, looking up at Iruka, so unsure as to why this teacher had rescued him from rogue ninjas wanting to harm him, so unsure why anyone was being so kind to him, when Naruto’s existence, up to that point, had been confined the darker side of the Konoha, the ugly parts of it, the ones that are ruled by irrational behavior and cruel bitterness, fueled by loss and crippling devastation.

“The proudest,” Iruka manages to say, setting his chopsticks down and ducking his head. “Forgive this old man, Naruto. I just – it’s been a long time since I felt this joy, this honor—“ Iruka swallows, blinking rapidly and willing himself to stop crying, to instead enjoy this moment, savor it, commit it to memory.

“About that…” Naruto murmurs, looking at his noodles once more. “You’ve changed, Iruka-sensei… you’re different now.”

“Losing you did change me, I’ll admit that,” Iruka murmurs, breathing through a stuffy nose. “It wasn’t easy. Nobody is truly prepared for a death of a loved one, you know?”

“I put you through a tough time, didn’t I?” Naruto reaches up to rub the back of his head. “I’m sorry you went through that, Iruka-sensei. I didn’t mean for you to go through a bad time.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m not looking for an apology, Naruto. These things happen, it’s part of our life as shinobi; loss. Which is why, now that you’re marrying Hinata, promise me that you’ll enjoy and cherish every moment with her, in this new life of yours, together. It’s not going to be easy, you’ll learn things about each other that you may like or dislike. But as long as you continue to work together, and never go to bed angry at each other, I think the both of you will be fine. Make a lot of happy memories…” The smile on Iruka’s lips is small, soft, gentle. This may be his last lesson to Naruto. “You’ll love her with everything you are, that you’ll listen to her, never lie to her. That you’ll always understand. That you’ll always have her best interest at heart, that you’ll always be _honest_ and communicate your intentions clearly.”

Because understanding and communicating with your loved one is the biggest hurdle when it comes to commitment. Love will always be there, in whatever shape or form. There is a fine line between being selfless and selfish. Iruka knows that Naruto will face more challenges as he and Hinata continue on their new path. But then, Iruka has faith in Naruto too. Naruto, unlike so many others, unlike himself, is someone who will always find a way to make the best of both sides. Naruto will fight to change the world, will do whatever it takes without stepping on anyone

Hinata is the luckiest girl in the _world_ to have a man like Naruto want her, love her, commit to her.

There isn’t anyone else like Naruto.

The image of Tenzou’s face flashes behind Iruka’s eyelids, making the length of his back stiffen in alert as he quickly drops his gaze to the wooden floor, carefully and slowly setting his cup ramen down, turning to pick up the bottle water from the grocery back beside them, fussing with a bottle, anything to keep his hands busy, because they’re starting to shake. Parts of him are coming apart when he’s been working so hard to glue them back into place, keep himself whole. And this is not the place, nor the time for him to be thinking of himself, to be thinking of Tenzou’s love and current intentions, at everything that brought them to where they are now. Iruka didn’t want to think of the warmth of Tenzou’s body, how that mere one or two hours of sleep in Tenzou's arms had been the most rest Iruka’s body has felt in _years_. That getting all those flowers, those secret words tucked within colorful and vivid blooms started to make iruka look forward to his mornings again; Iruka refused to admit that, until this moment.

Tenzou, like Naruto, made him feel alive. Made him feel like he wasn’t just another cog in the wheel.

 _I am strong because of you_ , Tenzou used to say. _I fear nothing because I know I get to come back to you_ , Tenzou once said, a lifetime ago, when he had been away for four weeks and had come home battered, bruised and covered in scrapes, but otherwise whole. Iruka remembers that night, remembers how he had helped Tenzou into the small tub of his apartment, how he knelt there while all the strength left Tenzou’s body, leaving him sagging against the porcelain, head pillowed on a shoulder, while Iruka dabbed a hot towel gently over the raw scrapes, tracing the lines of the swollen and broken knuckles of Tenzou’s hand, blue under his fingertips, something that slowly faded as Iruka pushed healing chakra into them.

He remembers Tenzou watching him as he did that, piece Tenzou back to something whole, that is. And then Tenzou said what he said, and Iruka remembers feeling like the luckiest man in the world.

The water bottle in Iruka’s hand _shakes_ , as his eyes waters, his grief and hurt and everything he’s been safeguarding for the past five years come rising to the surface, washing away everything in its path as Iruka brings the heel of his palm to his lower lash-line, trying to put a stop to the broken dam that overflows. One moment Iruka is brushing his left eye, the next he’s brushing his right, then his left, then both hands come to stop, oh gods, stop, stop, stop fucking crying, stop it, just stop, stop, not in front of Naruto, _stop!_

“Sensei!” Naruto sounds alarmed, the soft _clack_ of plastic being set down firmly cutting through the silence in the room.

“I’m just really, really happy for you!” Iruka says, a little too loudly, a little to panicked, scrambling to get himself under control, and failing horribly. He can’t seem to catch his breath, can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs to calm himself down, as he refuses to look up when Naruto kneels in front of him, their knees touching, firm, strong hands gripping him by the shoulder, worried, almost bruising, Naruto’s expression morphed to worry, to panic too, and why wouldn’t it? When Naruto’s never seen Iruka lose control like this, when Iruka had been vigilant for years to never let his personal matters come to the light like this, not in front of Naruto, not his friends, and not Tenzou.

“Sensei, this isn’t – why are you so sad?” Naruto asks, his voice coming out all wrong, pinched, _thick_ , his eyebrow knitted to a frown, jaw slack with helplessness. “I knew I wasn’t imagining it! I knew something was wrong – I should have asked you before I left with the pervy-sage. What happened?”

Iruka shakes his head, his eyes wide, still trying to wipe the tears off his face, still trying scrambling and trying to swim past the storm that is determined to choke him, to drown him once and for all, after all this time, all these years. Iruka _grits_ his teeth, forcing his mouth back to a grotesque and ugly smile, something that makes the expression on Naruto’s face crumple. “Nothing happened, Naruto. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you…” Naruto murmurs, soft, quiet, his lips pressing to a thin line, his chin wrinkling. “You’re lying. Don’t make promises you don’t mean; you told me that.”

That, more than anything, punches Iruka in the gut. His stomach swoops inwards from the force of it, his breathing coming out in rapid huffs, a fist coming to his stomach, knuckles going white as Iruka shakes his head in a futile effort to dismiss Naruto’s line of inquiry even though Iruka knows – gods, how he _knows_ — that it’s too late. There is no going back after this moment, no point in hiding anything from Naruto anymore because that, more than anything, would be insult to Naruto. It would be the biggest show of mistrust and disrespect, when Iruka had very little people he trusts on a personal level, when he doesn’t have much other than perhaps two of his closest friends and this boy who looks up to him as a father.

Iruka looks at Naruto’s eyes, and nods. He nods to agree, as if to say that yes, you’re right, you weren’t imagining it at all. Iruka nods and bites his lower lip, the back of his hand covering his mouth, as a _sob_ breaks past the prison of his throat like how it had wanted to five years ago, loud, wounded, a strangled animal beaten into the darkest corner of a cold cage, something that makes Naruto’s eyes widen, the slit of his pupils elongate, his lungs heave as Naruto shakes his head in confusion and dawning understanding.

Naruto’s voice comes out low, dangerously calm, almost cold. “Who hurt you?”

“It’s not like that—“

“ _Who_ hurt you?” Naruto repeats, blue irises dissolving to a dangerous crimson.

And Iruka can do nothing but sit there and tell Naruto the truth.

*

The truth doesn’t quite set Iruka free but it leaves him wary, bone tired and powerless under Naruto’s quiet gaze. But it clears a bit of space in his chest when he watches Naruto scrutinize him for the longest time, only to ask very softly, “Do you love him, sensei?”

Iruka opens his mouth to say yes. What comes out instead is a staggered exhale, the syllable dissolving at the tip of Iruka’s tongue. He nods, however, and shamefully, could do nothing more but look at the floor once more, a throb slowly starting to make itself known somewhere at the back of his head. It’ll blow into a headache later, after the emotional outburst.

“You’re the strongest man I know, Iruka-sensei,” Naruto mutters, chewing on his lower lip. “I know Yamato-taichou messed up bad. And he’s an asshole for that. But, Iruka-sensei, if he loves you and you love him, if you can find it in your heart to love someone like me, when I killed your parents—“

The protest comes out sharp, firm, indignant. “Naruto!”

“But I did though, didn’t I? I’m the one keeping Kurama at bay. I’m the jinchuuriki no matter how you look at it.” Naruto chews on his lower lip. “So if you can love _me_ , see past that, why can’t you do the same with Yamato-taichou, too?”

“It isn’t right…” Iruka reasons, because it still isn’t. Even when being with Tenzou is about the rightest thing

“Lots of people must have told you that caring and loving me wasn’t right either,” Naruto points out. “Remember Mizuki?”

How can Iruka _forget_ Mizuki?

Mizuki is the reason that Iruka chooses not to fall in love, to not attach to himself because it isn’t your enemies that wounds and destroys the softest parts of you. It’s those that you love, those that you care for, that ultimately destroys you. Iruka had loved Mizuki, truly, deeply loved him. And he got nearly paralyzed for it, had to go through several weeks of rehabilitation for it.

The weight of Naruto’s words, makes Iruka hesitate, makes him think back to the Tenzou’s admission of committing to him, of wanting to do it long before the order came. It makes his heart skip a beat, sudden, unexpected, his stomach swooping inwards as a prison of butterflies suddenly erupts and takes flight from the deepest pits of his stomach, a thousand wings brushing inside and out, leaving Iruka’s fingers tingling and his cheeks painting a dark scarlet.

“He made you happy, didn’t he?” Naruto takes Iruka’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“The happiest…” Iruka admits, swallowing after the truth comes tumbling past his mouth.

“Then you need to be brave, Iruka-sensei and make a decision. If you love him, then…” Naruto trails off, but the silence that follows is something Iruka understands.

Naruto isn’t wrong. Living like this in a state of stasis and relying on memories with Naruto to justify his existence beyond that of duty is unfair. It isn’t right. Naruto had his life ahead of him and Iruka needed to find something for himself. More than servitude, more than duty.

Because for a brief time, Tenzou had also been a flame that made Iruka’s will fire blaze as bright as the sun.

To have his own will fire burn bright again, Iruka swallows, a tendril of just the smallest of bit of courage curling in his stomach when he looks up and gives Naruto a watery smile. “I’ll try…”

To be brave, that is.

*

“Where’s Yamato-taichou, Kakashi-sensei?” Naruto asks, making Tenzou blink from his hidden perch in the Hokage’s office. “He should be here, shouldn’t he? If he’s the one in charge of ANBU and the security for the wedding?”

“You’re right,” Kakashi agrees. “Oh Tenzou~”

Tenzou _sighs_ , wishing that Kakashi wouldn’t just throw that name around like it’s free knowledge. Tenzou tugs his cloak closer around himself, pulls the mask off and makes himself materialize in the far corner of the room, stepping towards Kakashi’s desk.

“Naruto,” Tenzou greets.

Naruto turning to face him is all the warning he gets.

One moment Tenzou is standing upright, the next he’s flying across the office and slamming against the file cabinet, papers flying and drifting to the ground, his hand coming up to his broken nose and split lip, blood rushing down and pooling into his palm. Pain eruprts and spark white light from behind Tenzou’s eyelids, the inside of his skull rattled from the brutal force of Naruto’s fist. It takes a moment too long to clear the ringing noise echoing in Tenzou’s ears, to clear the white stars behind his eyelids. Tenzou’s gaze snaps up in alarm, instincts ready to defend and attack if need be, one hand coming up to the thigh holster, chakra channeling.

But all he sees is Naruto looking down at him, pupils dilated and crimson, lips pressed to a disgusted, unimpressed and judging thin line. Behind him Kakashi is on his feet, crossing the space between them and skidding to a stop when Naruto _glares_ at him, making him freeze on the spot.

Suddenly Tenzou knows what this is about. Suddenly he understands and the fight drains out of him in an instant.

“Hurt him again,” Naruto warns, something guttural, _beastly_ , in his tone, “and I’ll destroy you. We clear?”

Tenzou swallows.

He would _never_.

Not again.

Not in this lifetime or the next.

It’s not his place anymore.

Iruka had made that abundantly clear weeks ago during their mission together. But Tenzou nods all the same, breathing wetly through his broken nose, and accepts Naruto’s offered hand to be helped up, purposely avoiding Kakashi’s wondering and worried gaze as they return to the table and carry on the discussion of the security parameter that is to take place on Naruto’s special day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has feelings? What is feelings? Naruto and Iruka's relationship is the purest. Anyone who says otherwise, I WILL FIGHT YOU WITH ALL MY FUCKING MIGHT! I WILL SLAP YOU WITH MY MASSIVE TITS! HAH!
> 
> Special thanks to Rika who said IRUKA NEEDS TO TALK BRO.


	13. xiii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

The day of Naruto’s wedding comes too soon, too fast, and Iruka loses his mind when Naruto appears on his door, pale, a little green around the gills with his hair not at all cut. When Iruka had reminded Naruto explicitly, over and over again, to visit a barber the day before.

“Iruka-sensei…” Naruto says, watery, eyes wide, blonde hair a wild mess on his head.

“Okay, okay, uh, well, let’s go to my barber! I’m sure he can help! Let me get dressed! I reminded you!” Iruka leaves the door open for Naruto to step in, disappearing past his shelves and pulling his shirt off in the process to change.

“Kiba, Shino and Chouji were helping me finish the paintjob yesterday and well, there was an accident,” Naruto murmurs, rubbing the back of his head.

“Huh?” Iruka pops his head through the neck hole of a clean, decent t-shirt, already gathering up his hair into a high ponytail. “What was that?”

Naruto pulls off his shirt and right there, on his neck, on his shoulder, are streaks of paint that’s been attempted to wipe off. Iruka _stares_ as everything in him just comes crashing on the ground. Naruto cannot present himself like this during his wedding night. He cannot have paint streaks all over his skin under his kimono. He cannot look like _this_ on the most important day of his life, the start of his new future. Not if Iruka has anything to do with it.

“I tried,” Naruto says, looking meek and edging on panic. “And I got some of it off, but I don’t know, thinner didn’t work so well. I got most of it off but… Iruka-sensei, I can’t let Hinata see me like this! I mean, we finished the house at least but…”

If Naruto had been anything but earnest and worried, Iruka would have exploded there and then. But the look on Naruto’s face, the helplessness there, the out of ideas, the vulnerability, making Naruto’s shoulders round in a slumping defeat, stills the words and urge to give him a lecture. Iruka pulls of the shirt he has on and puts his house shirt back on.

“Go fill a bucket with water and sit on the toilet lid. If you lose a layer or two of skin, then you have no one to blame but yourself.” Iruka says, pulling open one of his drawers and taking out a new, spare exfoliating glove that he’s been saving for his next trip to the onsen. “And not a word from your mouth, too!”

Naruto’s teeth clack when he shuts his mouth. He grumbles the entire time, as he pads to the connecting bathroom, stripping down to his boxers and doing as he’s told, filling the bucket in the shower stall with water. Iruka finds him like that, bringing in his electric kettle, pouring boiling water to warm the tap water in the bucket, dropping his exfoliating glove into it, too.

“Sensei, uhmm—“ Naruto looks unsure, staring at the glove. “I don’t think that’ll work.”

“Oh it’ll work,” Iruka says, rolling his pants up to his knees. “It’ll work by the time I’m done with you. Sit on your side, we’ll start on your back. At least you got the bulk of it off with thinner. It was a thick coat of paint, wasn’t it?”

Naruto’s cheeks puff out to full petulant, roundness as he murmurs a soft, _yeah._

Iruka spends the next hour or so scrubbing and exfoliating Naruto’s skin to a shine, getting rid of the rest of the paint streaks Naruto had so carelessly gotten on him while clowning around with his friends a day before the wedding. Naruto winces, screeches, complains, and whines, more than a few times trying to pull away from the exfoliating glove and body wash that Iruka has been libelously using to slough off dead skin off Naruto’s body.

“Oww, oww, sensei – oww, eww, why do they look like old ramen noodles?” Naruto gags, staring at his arm, at the rolls of gray and brown dead skin Iruka manages to scrub off him.

“Because you are an idiot who doesn’t exfoliate even though I’ve told you time, and time again,” Iruka puts more of his back into it, getting around Naruto’s chest and neck area.

It’s like years ago, when they spend time together in Iruka’s apartment, something they haven’t been able to do very much or as often ever since Naruto graduated from the Academy. It’s not that Iruka had any hopes that their time together would remain the same. Drifting apart comes with the territory only because Naruto is field active while Iruka is not. Their schedules rarely, if at all line up anymore. Most of the time, Naruto is hardly in the village. And although they still manage to meet for meals every now and then, where Naruto would spend a few winter nights under the comfort of Iruka’s kotatsu, Iruka finds himself nostalgic, maybe a little longing for days that has long past. He remembers bathing Naruto as a child, using the shower head to rinse off mud from his hair because he had fallen into the river after the torrential rain. He remembers days where Naruto would fall asleep on the sofa, so small, so vulnerable, not at all the monster the village saw him as. Naruto always curled up on the pile of mismatched cushions on the left side of Iruka’s couch, intent on watching more cartoon reruns but body always betraying him where he eventually, just falls asleep. And every time Iruka would pick him to tuck him into his bed, while Iruka took the space on the futon, Naruto would protest sleepily, saying he’s still watching cartoons, the protest only dying out when Iruka presses a gentle calming hand on the crown of his head and turns the night light on by the bed.

Naruto didn’t like the dark. No child does. So the days when Naruto used to sleep over, Iruka keeps the night light on.

Iruka doesn’t realize he has paused mid scrub until he feels the weight of Naruto’s stare on him.

“Sensei?” Naruto softly inquires, eyebrows knitting in concern.

“Your feet used to dangle by the edge of the toilet seat, remember?” Iruka says, achingly fond and whisper-soft, something tight suddenly wedging itself in his throat. “I lost count how many times I had to wash mud off you.”

“I remember,” Naruto sighs, just as soft, nostalgia glimmering on the surfaces of his cerulean eyes. “Heh, I used to like, get excited about it. I used think that my hair would grow and be nice like yours, every time you used your stuff on me. I used to sleep better, too. Is it weird that I liked smelling like you? Because I felt safe? It sounds weird…”

Iruka swallows, shaking his head. “My dad would spray some of his cologne on my pillow, years ago. Just so that when he tucked me into bed, I’d think he was there the entire time. I slept better too…”

“You think I’d be a good dad?” Naruto asks, sudden, slow, eyes downcast. “A good husband?”

The question comes out barely above a whisper, an insecurity being voiced out in the quiet and private space of Iruka’s bathroom that can barely fit two grown men. Iruka doesn’t pause in his scrubbing, finishing off the last bit of Naruto’s right arm before he kneels on the wet tiles to look up at Naruto. There is uncertainty there, a cloud of doubt that dulls his eyes. It makes the lines of Naruto’s lean body pull taut, drawn inwards, so unlike his usual exuberant self, the hero that the village, his friends know. Here, now, in this small space that is only theirs, Naruto bares parts of himself that he doesn’t dare do anywhere else. Iruka has seen this before, time and time again, when Naruto’s feet had been two small, his hands still unsteady, when he used to ask, _you think I can become a good ninja_?

And Iruka had always, _always_ said, _I think you will be_.

So now, years later, when Iruka stares at Naruto chewing his lower lip, his chin wrinkling, just like it did then, all those years ago, countless times, Iruka can only smile and press a damp hand over the curve of Naruto’s shoulder.

“I think you will do your very best, and that’s what matters,” Iruka says, earnest, true and not a hint of a lie anywhere. “I think you’ll be a great husband and one day, a great father. More than anyone I know, Naruto, you _understand_ people. And that’s what matters.” He watches as Naruto purses his lips, eyebrows knitting some more, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “I think you will make Hinata very, very happy, Naruto.”

Iruka thinks it must be pre-wedding jitters or nerves. The thought of it warms him, makes him excited for Naruto. These are all new experiences, moments that he will carry with him and treasure for the rest of his life. When just yesterday, Naruto had been all alone, no family, no friends, not even an acknowledgment of his existence. Iruka bites his own lower lip, as he looks up at the broadness of Naruto’s shoulders, the lean cut of muscle around his chest, his arms, his abdomen, the strength of his legs, where his feet no longer dangle over the edge of the toilet seat, and are instead, planted firmly on the tiles. Naruto has grown so much, in size, strength and power. Gone is his unsteady hands, his kicking feet, the roundness of his cheeks and the flush that had, once upon a time, always been on the curves of his scarred cheeks.

The question that follows, however, makes Iruka’s gaze snap up at Naruto.

“You think I’ll be as good as you?” Naruto asks, whisper soft, his hands balling into fists on his knee caps, shoulders hunching forward.

Naruto looks afraid.

And Iruka thinks he shouldn’t be.

Not at all.

Naruto has no reason to be afraid.\

“Better,” Iruka responds, confident. This point, he is very certain. “I think you’ll be far better than I could ever be. Because, Naruto, you have something I don’t in great abundance. It’s always been the source of your strength.” Naruto blinks, his head tilting in confusion. “Courage. You have courage to always do the right thing, even when you’re scared. If anything, Naruto, I hope one day I can be just as brave, just as _good_ as you.”

Naruto’s lips tremble, as he swallows something in his throat, the knit between his eyebrows easing to something softer, a flush warming his cheeks, making him look so, so young for just a brief moment. In the space of the small bathroom, Naruto kneels on the floor and wraps his arms around Iruka’s middle, just like how he used to, all those years ago, burying his face on Iruka’s shoulder, getting Iruka’s clothes sopping wet in the process. Naruto’s arms are strong, thicker, steadier, even though a tremble goes through him, and his voice comes out watery, shaky, gravel in his throat.

“I never say it enough, but thank you, for everything,” Naruto murmurs, “tou-san.”

And in that moment, Iruka can only swallow, as a smile splits his face and he wraps his arms around his boy, his little precious boy who is now a man and about to get married. This is a moment Iruka had hoped for Naruto but didn’t have ambitious dreams to maybe see it one day, to be a part of it like this one day, when all he ever did was just do his best, try to give a small, scared, lonely little boy a piece of whatever childhood Iruka remembers having, all those years ago.

For a moment, as he holds Naruto like this, like a spark in the dark, Iruka feels brave, confident, and alive.

*

After two visits to a barbershop that ends up being full and busy, they are back in Iruka’s apartment and staring at Iruka’s mechanical shaver that Iruka honestly hasn’t touched in a while. He isn’t even sure if it still works. They are looking at each other with uncertainty, the buzz of the now proven to be working and functional razor filling the noise of the pregnant silence. Around them is plethora of opened hair products, where Iruka had helped style Naruto’s unruly and far too long hair to different shapes and looks, only to either make him look too sleazy, or like a gang leader or loan shark.

None of which is a fitting look for a wedding.

“Maybe I should just shave my head,” Naruto suggests, eyeing the razor.

“I am not allowing you to stand next to Hinata bald,” Iruka hisses, turning the shaver off.

“About a buzz cut, then? Kiba did it once and it wasn’t bad. He looked okay,” Naruto rubs the back of his head.

“A number four or a number three?” Iruka asks, staring at the shaver in his hand.

“Ahhhhh, screw it! Tou-san, let’s go with number three! It’s now or never! Why did everyone decide to get a haircut today of all days?” Naruto scrubs his scalp, mussing up long locks of gold, making it stick up in all directions in the process.

“Okay, okay, calm down. Buzz cuts tends to look neat and proper anyway, so, maybe… that is…”

“Just do it!” Naruto screeches.

“Okay! Okay!” Iruka adjusts the level on his shaver, turns it on and steps around towards Naruto’s back. “You ready?”

“Do it before I change my mind!” Naruto covers his face, pressing fingers to his scrunched eyelids.

“Okay. Here goes nothing,” Iruka says, his voice shaking.

He runs the shaver around the nape of Naruto’s neck, watching as long strands of blond hair falls on the newspaper covering his floor. It leaves behind and even cut of short, neat blond hair. The more Iruka cuts the more Naruto starts to relax.

Ten minutes later, Iruka is staring at his handiwork and thinks that the buzz cut makes Naruto look more his age, more mature, a new man, even. Iruka hadn’t been sure about going with a buzz cut; he wasn’t even sure how short the number three setting would look like.

Now, standing there and looking at Naruto pat his head, running fingers through the shorter, surprisingly even buzz cut, he thinks they had been nervous for no reason at all.

Naruto looks so handsome.

“How do I look?” Naruto asks, blinking apprehensive blue eyes at Iruka.

“Great,” Iruka says, nodding, his chest filled with pride that continues to swell. “You look _great_ , Naruto.”

And it isn’t at all a lie.

*

Iruka stands there, amongst the crowd, having rushed back out at front to join the rest of the guest after helping Naruto with his kimono in the small dressing room out back of the reception. He is struggling with pinning the corsage to his suit lapel, when a steady, gloved, warm hand gently cups Iruka by the shoulder.

Kakashi is looking at him with a look that Iruka isn’t sure what to make of.

“Can I help you with that, Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi asks, his gaze falling on the small flower arrangement Iruka has been struggling to pin just right.

“Hokage-sama.” Iruka blinks, jaw slacking for a moment before he nods, giving up. They had minutes if not seconds before Naruto and Hinata steps out in to the outdoor wedding. He hands Kakashi the small flower arrangement and pin, nodding his acceptance of the offered help before standing very still, as Kakashi fusses with his lapel and pins the thing in place.

“There,” Kakashi says, nodding at his handiwork. “Now you look like the father of the groom.”

Iruka _flushes_ , red painting down the length of his neck. “Don’t say that just yet.” Iruka reaches up and rubs the back of his head, sheepish. “I didn’t come up with a speech, in the end…”

Kakashi’s eyes widens, before they arc to crescents and he throws his head back and laughs, clapping Iruka on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

Before kakashi can say anything more, under the gentle breeze that billows cheery blossoms over the red carpet, the doors open, Naruto and Hinata stepping out. The hush that falls is gentle, awed, as the couple walks down the isle towards the officiator. The crowd holds their breath with bated silence, nervous excitement buzzing thickly in the air as they sign and stamp their seals on their marriage registry, as they exchange their rings and then, at last, under the backdrop of blooming Sakura trees, Naruto leans down and presses his lips to Hinata.

There is scraping of chairs, as everyone gets up for a standing ovation. There are loud, uproarious cheers. Someone whoops, someone whistles, and Iruka, through it all, can only watch proudly, happily, as he dabs at the corners of his eyes with a finger, clapping happily and grinning from ear to ear, laughing when Naruto and Hinata face the crowd and like a boxer winning his boxing match, Naruto holds Hinata’s hand up like a champion.

*

The wedding is a celebration of love, love for each other and everyone who is invited to share the moment with the newly weds. The reception is a thing of elegant arrangements, bouquet arrangements of soft whites and golds, and fine crystal porcelain. The Hyuugas did not cut corners when it comes to organizing the reception. It’s a generous and lavish affair, with the head table situated in the middle for the bride and groom, while others are spread all around them.

Iruka is surprised to find that his chair is actually diagonally across from Naruto, and right next to him, is Tenzou’s name on the card. Tenzou who is looking for his name somewhere in the back, where he must have assumed he’d be seated. Iruka watches him weave through each table, one by one, dressed in a fine black suit and tie, his hair slicked back handsomely, until Iruka takes pity and just stands from his chair, waiting for Tenzou’s attention to pass by him.

It doesn’t.

It’s like Tenzou is avoiding looking at him.

(Not that Iruka blames him.)

Crossing the space between them takes but a few steps. Iruka calls out to Tenzou’s name, refers to him by what is printed on the card, his voice making Tenzou go rigidly still before he turns to face Iruka, expression carefully neutral, not a wrinkle betraying anything on his perfectly placid face.

“Iruka-sensei, good evening,” Tenzou greets, bowing polite. “Congratulations. You must be very proud.”

“I am, thank you,” Iruka answers, gracious and returning the bow. “I came to let you know that your seat is actually over there, next to mine.” Iruka explains, watching as Tenzou remains perfectly still. “I saw you searching and well…”

“Thank you,” Tenzou murmurs, dipping his chin in an appreciative gesture. “Please lead the way, Iruka-sensei.”

*

When they reach their table, Iruka finds that the rest of the occupants are already seated; Kakashi, Sakura, Sai and now, as he lowers himself to his chair, himself and Tenzou. Tenzou who greets his team and Kakashi, as he unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat, his gaze following the movement of the people around him as he takes a sip of his water.

Iruka finds himself unable to quite relax, as he tries his best to not look at Tenzou, who in turn, does the same. When Sakura brings up the topic of Naruto’s haircut, Iruka _leaps_ at it like a starved man and narrates the tale of what had happened that morning, how he had spent a good portion of the day sloughing paint and dead skin off Naruto in preparation for the reception. Iruka’s story leads to a domino effect and suddenly, as they go through their meal, the table is filled with talk about team seven’s time together, more prominent stories that leaves Iruka laughing behind a fist, as Sai, Sakura and Kakashi alters between their storytelling.

“Taichou actually once locked us in a cage just so that we’d get along, remember that, taichou?” Sai says, as he takes a sip of his champagne.

“A cage?” Iruka turns to look at Tenzou, jaw gaping in mirth and amusement. “A literal _cage_?”

“I told them I had no problems controlling them with fear if they don’t try to get along,” Tenzou responds, shrugging as he sets his chopsticks down.

“I mean, I thought Naruto was joking. I assumed just meant you locked them in a room or something,” Iruka chuckles behind a hand. “But you actually put them in a mokuton cage?”

“Maa, wish I had that ability,” Kakashi says, glibly. “Would have helped when you lot were still genin.”

“Sensei!” Sakura says, laughing and cheerful, dissolving into another story about their genin days.

All while Iruka finds himself staring at Tenzou, unable to quite tear his gaze away. The smile on his lips relaxes to something more distant, maybe nostalgic, as he takes in the sharp lines of Tenzou’s suit, his gaze brushing down the lapels over the small floral arrangement on his lapel. Iruka’s gaze trail back up, where it meets dark brows that are pinched ever so slightly, Tenzou’s lips currently pressing to a bit of an uncertain frown, marring the perfect ironed control, disturbing the calmness that had once glimmered on the surface.

Suddenly, they’re sitting there, side by side, just looking at each other, uncertain, Tenzou not at all understanding why he would be seated here, right next to Iruka, when he knows that he should be seated on the farthest end, ideally. That is what they had discussed, so he’d be closer to the ANBU patrolling the perimeters. Easier for security.

This last minute change had been unexpected. Tenzou knows it’s Naruto’s doing.

Naruto has been watching their table closely since the moment he had taken his seat at the groom and bride head table.

Tenzou didn’t understand _why_.

When he’s heard Naruto’s warning loud and clear.

It takes all his power, all his training, all his will and whatever that is left of his strength that he can scrape from the bottom of his being to just not look at Iruka. To not stare helplessly, longingly, happily, at the proud smile that tugs around the corners of Iruka’s slips. At those wonderful dimples joyously dotting his cheeks. At how beautiful he looks, in his form fitting suit that is flattering, sharp, accentuating his lean built. At how his hair shines a sheen of gold under the light, held tight in a sleek, neat high ponytail, the length of is brushing just past his shoulders. How he looks so smart, so dangerously attractive in his leather dress shoes, and just how nervous, he had been earlier, when he had struggled to pin the corsage on his lapel.

Iruka looks so happy.

So fucking proud.

A father.

And Tenzou has to remind himself not to stare for too long, breaking their locked gazes first, _tearing_ himself away from Iruka, wrenching out of his orbit with every ounce of his strength, as he picks up his glass to empty the contents before he stands and excuses himself, saying that he’ll be back, that he just want to check on security, make sure everything is fine.

He can feel Iruka’s eyes on him, long after he pushes his chair back under the table and crosses the space to the end of the room, Iruka’s eyes brushing over the length of his back like a warm brush, concerned maybe, possibly guilty too. Iruka is probably thinking that his presence in team seven’s table has driven Tenzou away when Tenzou can’t think of no one else more deserving to be on that table, with Naruto’s closest people, than Iruka.

Tenzou takes his time making his rounds, makes no effort to rush back to his table.

But they cut the cake, and serve the cake, and there is the first dance and he finds himself, once more, captivated by Iruka, who is currently re-pinning the corsage on Naruto’s lapel, as Naruto mutters something about being clumsy, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Tenzou is there, watching as Iruka shake his head fondly, saying something to Hinata who laughs behind her hand, and Naruto who flushes and puffs his cheeks out.

He is there, watching all this, when Kakashi comes to sit beside him, handing Tenzou a glass of whiskey on the rocks.

“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” Kakashi says.

“Most grooms do,” Tenzou responds, taking a sip from his glass.

“I wasn’t talking about Naruto,” Kakashi corrects, soft, gentle. “Tenzou, is there anything I can do to help you two?”

Tenzou turns to look at Kakashi then, opening his mouth to say his thanks. To say that his concern is misplaced because there’s nothing between us now, I’ve ruined everything. I don’t deserve to stand beside him, not when all I seem to do is remind him of why love can’t be trusted at the end of the day, when he already took a chance on me all those years ago. When he had no trust, no time, no need for love but chose me, anyway. There’s nothing you can do, there’s nothing I can do, and it’s not your fault, not at all. Please don’t look at me like that, I don’t blame you. I never have and never will. I chose you in the end, remember? But then, it didn’t matter. You didn’t want me anyway. Not like that, at least.

But instead, Tenzou watches as Kakashi’s eyes widens all of a sudden. As he stares at Tenzou in what looks like alarm. Tenzou blinks, wondering why Kakashi looks panicked, his senses stretching out until he realizes that his eyes are brimming with moisture, that he let his guard down, allowed his vulnerability to come rising to the surface. Tenzou blinks rapidly, dropping his gaze his lap, hands balling to fists as he reaches for his whiskey and drains the contents in one long, suddenly thirsty gulp.

“No senpai,” Tenzou answers, his voice thick, shaky, weakened by the reminder of why he can’t want things, why he shouldn’t want things. Reminded again of why Danzou had been right. _Effective_ shinobi – the best of Root - have no past, no present, no future. “But thank you for asking, all the same. I appreciate it.”

“T-Tenzou…”

“I’m going to check on security. Some of the guests have started to leave,” Tenzou murmurs, pushing himself up to his feet, setting the empty glass down on the table, buttoning his jacket and turning to leave without another look back.

He doesn’t dare look back.

Not even when he hears Iruka and Naruto’s voice call his name out.

*

Tenzou is standing by the exit, communicating with the patrolling ANBU through the earpiece he is wearing when he hears Naruto bumble up towards him, giving explicit instructions of not letting anyone leave without signing the guestbook.

“Hinata is going to be so sad! And Iruka-sensei, you have a scary face! Oh, oh, you and Yamato-taichou can tag team and that way, _no one_ will forget. Please, please, Iruka-sensei? Yamato-taichou? For me? No, not me. For _Hinata_? Please, _please?_ ” Naruto begs, hands clasping together, head bowed.

Iruka stands there, exchanging a look with Tenzou who blinks in confusion, not sure what brought this sudden request on when he’s certain that people have been signing the guest book.

“Of course,” Iruka responds, clasping the guestbook to his chest. “Leave this to us. Now go. Go be with your wife! Shoo!”

“Oh my god, thank you! Thank you! You guys are the best!” Naruto half yells before he darts off to find his bride once more.

Still confused, Tenzou drops his gaze to the guest book on Iruka’s chest, watching him sigh, and shake his head. “What’s going on?”

“Naruto is worried that people will forget. You and I are now in charge of this, apparently. He’s been going around ensuring everything goes according to plan. When Sakura is already doing that. I think it’s just his way to make sure that Hinata gets her dream wedding; he’s just doing his best,” Iruka says gently, as he tugs out a pen from his pocket and asks a departing Hyuuga if they’ve signed the guest book.

They have.

Of course they have.

Tenzou is right.

Frowning, he turns to look back at the reception hall, where music is playing, Naruto and Hinata dancing in the center with some friends and Hyuuga family members. He is not sure what is going on, or what Naruto is trying to prove by once more, making him and Iruka be in each other’s orbit. Tenzou knows one thing is for certain. Nothing good ever comes out of other people meddling. Kakashi had tried to help, and it ended up simply breaking their hearts all over again.

Tenzou did not want the same from Naruto.

He is starting doubt his own strength in being able to withstand another rejection from Iruka. Not so soon, anyway.

“I – I didn’t get to tell you earlier, but you look good, Tenzou,” Iruka suddenly says.

That makes Tenzou turn. That makes him snap his gaze and attention, almost like a whiplash, at Iruka. Iruka who is flushing, staring at the open guestbook in his hand, the pen resting between the pages. Iruka who looks up at him almost embarrassedly, shyly, gaze darting away, as he swallows and seems to be gathering his strength, lips tugging up into a bit of an uncertain, tentative smile.

Iruka is walking on egg shells, forcing himself to interact. He is trying to fill the silence between them, with nothing more than his honest comment, because it’s rare for any of them to dress up like this. Tenzou understands. He may look rather odd – in a good way, at least – compared to his usual. But Iruka is saying this the same way Tenzou remembers he would in the past. He says this with a flush that darkens, deepens, brushing past his Adam’s apple and that—well, that is something Tenzou isn’t sure what to make of.

There was never any doubt about how attracted they are to each other.

There was never any doubt in how much aren’t able to resist looking at each other.

But right here, right now, after everything that’s happened, after what’s been said and done, Tenzou isn’t sure if he should dare hope at what that sentence, that compliment may mean. When Iruka is peering up at him, a knit between his brow, chewing on his lower lip. And suddenly they are at Cobra’s engagement party, all those years ago, where Tenzou had told Iruka bluntly what a nice ass he has. And Iruka, well, he had blushed and smiled bemusedly, and looked the same way he does right now.

So Tenzou swallows and returns the compliment, no lie, never a lie when it comes to Iruka, and says, “You’re beautiful.” Tenzou swallows, watching that flush darken even more, as his heart traitorously swells under his ribcage, skipping several beats in the space of two breaths. “As always, Iruka-sensei…”

“H-Have you—“ Iruka clears his throat, dipping his head as he chews on his lower lip, holding out the guest book. “—signed yet? Or, well, have you had the opportunity to write down your wishes?”

“I haven’t,” Tenzou responds after a pause, hating the way his stomach swoops inwards, hating the way that his body betrays him, that it dares to hope when it shouldn’t. This is nothing. This is Iruka being nice, being proper, for he’s been tasked by something of great importance by the groom, his son. But there he is, watching as his breath starts to _hurt_ in his lungs, as Iruka takes a careful step forward, bridging the distance between them, the only thing separating them is the guestbook Iruka holds up. “I guess, I should sign.”

“You should,” Iruka agrees, visibly swallowing, tipping his chin towards the pen. “Go on, then.”

Tenzou hesitates visible, not daring to move a muscle, their gazes locking. As if in a daze, Tenzou picks up the pen, trying to keep it steady in his hands as he gently places his other palm under the open guestbook, right there at the bottom of the spine, his gaze dropping to the blank page that he fills with kind words, good wishes and how proud and honored he is to share their special day with them. He signs it as Yamato-taichou, drawing a little tree in the corner before he sets the pen back down on the center.

“Have you—“ Tenzou looks up, meeting Iruka’s gaze once more, and finds himself forgetting what he wants to say when he is greeted by a soft, kind look. Iruka’s mouth is relaxed to a gentle smile, almost touched. Maybe it’s the words Tenzou had written, his feelings towards Naruto as his captain, how proud he is of him, that Konoha will surely flourish once he ascends as the Nanadaime. Or maybe it’s the way Iruka is looking at him, love in his eyes, something that Iruka has tried to hide away behind gazes tucked under shadows, by staring at the ground, behind a wall of formality, now all ripped open and brought to the surface given the emotional weight of the day. Maybe it’s wedding. Maybe it’s Naruto. Tenzou doesn’t know.

But what he does know is that he can’t take this. It’s too much for him to tolerate, because he wants this. He wants Iruka in his arms, wants to put aside the guestbook that’s between them, press his palm to the curve of Iruka’s cheek, maybe even be bold enough to ask him to the dance floor. What he wants is to press his lips to Iruka’s temple, remind him over and over again just how proud he is of him, of raising a wonderful boy who is Konoha’s future. Tenzou wants to hold Iruka upright, when his knees shake at the weight of his emotions, ever so humble, because to Iruka, he sometimes doesn’t understand that the weight of his compassion, his kindness, his patience and understanding is what had made all the difference to Konoha’s future. Sometimes, Iruka’s humble nature just prevents him from seeing what a great person he is, because to Iruka he’s just doing what he is supposed to be doing: serving, caring for the community, maintaining the peace.

But it hurts.

Gods, it _hurts_ to stand here under all of Iruka’s warmth, all of his love that’s right there, ever so beautiful and just for Tenzou. It _burns_. It makes Tenzou shake his head at Iruka, as if begging him silently, _begging_ with every fiber of his being to please, _please don’t look at me like that. Please, you know I love you, that I have never stopped loving you and though all I’ve seemed to do is hurt you, and maybe I do deserve this, but I can’t take it anymore. I can’t bear the idea to hope only to hurt you again, forgive me, please forgive me—_

Someone bowls Iruka over, arms wrapping around him, talking his ear off as he quickly hands the guestbook to someone else. Tenzou recognizes it as Kotetsu, who gives him a look over, a polite greeting, and all but shoves the guest book in Tenzou’s arms.

“Now, now, back side, Naruto’s pants ripped when he did the split. You’re the only one I know who can stitch a hole real quick! Hurry up, move, move, move—“

Iruka gets dragged away, the entire time looking over his shoulder at Tenzou, wide eyed, worry all over his face and the ugliest thing of all, guilt.

Guilt that makes Tenzou turn his back to the party. Guilt that makes him hate himself just a little more for being weak in the face of Iruka’s affection that still burns as bright as the sun. Guilt that makes him slam the guestbook shut with a little more force than necessary, as he stands there and burns in the shame of having his weakness be a cause for more and added hurt on Iruka’s part.

Gods, he needs to stop.

Fuck, he needs to just _stop_.

Just get away from all this.

Maybe later, when things are back to normal, he can ask Kakashi for a long assignment, as far as possible from Konoha.

Maybe having physical distance between them will help.

*

The after party starts to dwindle down by late evening. Tenzou is one of the last few people to leave the reception, after ensuring that the only ones left behind are the small guard crew overseeing the reception cleanup.

A gentle rumble in the night sky that is now painted in hues of dark gray, obscuring the moon and starts that had been so clear earlier, reaches his ear. Sure enough, as he strolls into the convenience store to pick up cup ramen for later, just in case he gets peckish, the rain had started to fall.

Tenzou doesn’t pay it any attention, continuously walking his way down Konoha’s streets, stepping into the main square where people are running and ducking for cover. The spring downpour, he knows, will only last for a few minutes. It’s that time of the year, where the spring rain is unpredictable. Naruto and Hinata had been lucky to have been able to have their ceremony outdoors. Tenzou heard that the reception should have been outdoors too, but changed last minute to the party hall in case of rain.

Tenzou walks with his shoes dipping into the puddles, uncaring, hands in his pockets, grocery bag with two cup ramens looped around his wrist, his mind distant as he thinks of ways to put his request forward to the Hokage. He hopes Kakashi would indulge him. He hopes Kakashi understands.

He hopes.

Just as the rain stops pelting on his suit, his head, his hair, all of a sudden, a warm presence following his step making him pause.

Iruka is standing there, in his suit too, except he’s holding out a large umbrella.

“You’ll catch a cold like this,” Iruka says, concern making his eyebrows knit. Tenzou’s throat go dry at the response, that _ache_ going through him again, stripping him down, Iruka’s care skinning him alive and leaving behind nothing but a longing burn that pinches at the center of Tenzou’s chest. “May I walk you home?”

Tenzou wants to say no. he _should_ say no.

But like always, Tenzou’s fingers reach ends up reaching out for the light, is drawn to that ever encompassing warmth that is Iruka’s presence. He nods numbly, turning his gaze back to the rainwater on Konoha’s roads, as they quietly walk side by side, crossing several blocks together in not quite companiable silence.

Suddenly, Tenzou can’t breathe. Suddenly his chest is palpitating, his hands shaking in his pockets. Suddenly he wants to disappear, or just helplessly fall to his knees, beg for Iruka’s forgiveness, repent for what he’s put him through. Suddenly he is ashamed, the reminder of what he’s done, the reminder of Naruto’s fist against his jaw and nose, too sharp, right there, aching, throbbing.

Tenzou walks on fine pieces of glass, trying to avoid crushing it further, all the way until they reach his apartment building, where Tenzou stops by the front entrance, finally able to put space between himself and Iruka. Not because he wants to be away from Iruka, but because he knows Iruka doesn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Which makes this entire thing odd.

“Why are you doing this?” Tenzou asks. Soft. Quiet. The syllables barely audible in the rushing fall of the rain.

“I don’t know,” Iruka answers, admitting. “But, someone very wise told me that I should try to be brave. And you didn’t have an umbrella, so…”

Tenzou is confused, a frown etching on his face, sloping down his eyebrows. “Brave?”

“I don’t know how to stop loving you,” Iruka says softly. “And if you had asked me, all those years ago, to marry you, I would have said yes. In a heartbeat…”

That lands like a fatal blow to the gut, cutting upwards, upwards, all the way to Tenzou’s throat, as he stands, a soft, barley audible exhale lost to the rain, as he stares at Iruka, the world around him blurring. He stands there with knees soft, his back weakened, crushing, spinal column disks compressing, compressing, until he hunches forward, head ducked in shame, eyes scrunching shut as heat pools over his eyelids, sliding past them, carving down his cheeks as he burns in his shame, his lost forever, his chance at having something that is truly his. Whatever strength he has in his body swirls down with the rain.

Iruka’s umbrella clatters somewhere on the pavement, forgotten.

Iruka’s hands are warm, and soft, and gentle, gods, they’re so gentle, as they cup Tenzou’s face and raise them up from where his chin touching his chest.

“Oh Tenzou…” Iruka says, thumbing Tenzou’s lower lash line.

“I understand,” Tenzou says and quickly reaches up to pull Iruka’s hands away, turning his face away, shame painting his neck and cheeks crimson. “Forgive me, Iruka. Forgive me for hurting you. For leaving you. For betraying you. I’m sorry – gods, I’m so sorry—“

Tenzou is in Iruka’s arms, his face pressing on Iruka’s warm shoulder, his hands coming up to circle around Iruka’s middle, powerless, weak, as he sinks into Iruka’s warm embrace, gritting his teeth and inhaling that wondrous scent of orange and cinnamon, of his home, that seems so, so far away now, a memory ago, no longer his to call home anymore. Something about that makes Tenzou grit his teeth even harder, his eyes _burning_ as he _growls_ like a dying wounded animal, shaking under Iruka’s hold, apologizing over and over again.

“Tenzou, I am tired of being scared,” Iruka whispers. “I am tired of missing you. I want to be brave. Like Naruto…”

“Yeah?” Tenzou asks, hesitantly pulling back.

“It’s why I – I offered the umbrella,” Iruka says, flushing still, looking up at Tenzou almost shyly, hesitantly. “I promised him I’d try…”

Tenzou shakes his head, not sure what that means. “I’ve hurt you a lot, Iruka. And I don’t want to keep doing that. You’re going to have to tell me what you want from me, because I can’t --- I _won’t_ hurt you again.”

“We both hurt each other,” Iruka corrects, gentle, still soft. “Will you find it in yourself to maybe, try again, with me this time? Maybe, one day, go for tea?”

“Just tea?” Tenzou asks, looking up at Iruka at that. Iruka smiles, warm, open, bemused at his question. “Would you like to come upstairs for tea, Iruka?”

Iruka swallows and nods once. The dimples that wink in Tenzou’s direction is all the answer Tenzou needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTHING WENT ACCORDING TO MY PLAN. SCREW THIS! I AM SO DONE WITH LOSING TO THESE CHARACTERS! AUGHHHHHHHHHHHH!
> 
> ~~Who is weak for an emotional Tenzou? Just me? Who is even weaker for Naruto/Iruka moments? Just me?!?!~~
> 
> Go ahead. Shout at me. So I can yell it right back at these asshole characters.


	14. xiv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta’d.

Tenzou’s current living space is a lot smaller than his previous space before the war. It certainly doesn’t come close to the grandiose of his shared apartment with Kakashi in the past, nor does it come close to the size and space of the official residence.

Tenzou’s apartment opens up from the genkan to a short hallway with the bathroom door to the left. It opens up to a small kitchen counter, the sink on one end, the single ceramic top cooking range on the other, next to a small microwave and electric kettle, a hanging cabinet overhead. There is a small table, with two chairs, directly perpendicular to a black painted divider, where there, Tenzou has pushed his double bed against the wall, facing the twin window that is currently obscured by black out drapes.

Tenzou toes his shoes off by the genkan, leaving Iruka behind to venture further and past the short hallway, turning the lights on and dropping the small grocery bag and cup ramen on the wooden table. He draws the curtains open on both windows, allowing Konoha’s evening light to pour past the glass. There is a small coffee table and television mounted on the corner between the bed and the window, adjacent to the two seater sofa. There are a few potted plants under the window, most of which are the air filtering kind.

Tenzou didn’t think he’d be expecting company. And while he keeps his living space in order, he had a small pile of unfolded laundry on the bed. Something that he starts to gather, shoving it into the drawers under the bed.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors. Sorry,” Tenzou murmurs, as if Iruka would fault for him for having his washed boxers and uniform lying out in the open.

“Hey.” Iruka reaches out, a hand coming to rest on the curve of Tenzou’s elbow, stopping Tenzou’s hasty shoving of everything unfolded into the storage space under his bed. “It’s okay. Just – just get out of these first before you catch a cold.”

Iruka’s hands are warm, a furnace against the rapidly cooling fabric of Tenzou’s wet suit. Tenzou trails his gaze upwards at that, from Iruka’s hand to the soft, concerned look on his face, watching as that look darkens, as Iruka’s lips gently tugs up to a small shy smile. It leaves Tenzou’s mouth incredibly dry, as barren and desolated as Wind’s desert, as he stands carefully, cautiously, reaching up to tug his bowtie free, watching as Iruka gently unbuttons his suit jacket, before gently pushing it off Tenzou’s shoulder. They are so close, standing like this, almost toe to toe, Tenzou leaning in closer as he hunches and pushes the sleeves past his shoulders. Iruka keeps his gaze down, a gentle flush brushing over the curves of his cheeks as he takes Tenzou’s jacket, his tongue brushing out to lick the bottom tiers of his own lips, as if to parch his own dry lips before Iruka turns and steps away.

Tenzou watches, with rapt, quiet attention and slow measured breaths, as Iruka hangs his jacket over one of the wooden chairs by the table, smoothing out the fabric, keeping his gaze on the grain of the wood. All while Tenzou unbuttons his wet shirt, one by one, taking his time, watching as the lines of Iruka’s body seems to draw upwards with tension, something Iruka tries to dissipate by undoing the buttons to his own suit, by tugging his own jacket off and hanging it on the other vacant chair. His tie follows too, the motion of Iruka tugging the knot cleanly free making Tenzou’s stomach swoop inwards, his breath slowing down as he undoes the last button of his shirt.

“Did you ever think of me?” Iruka asks, his voice low, hesitant. “While you were with…”

“A lot of the time,” Tenzou responds with honesty. “At first, I didn’t while I was with Kakashi. Or around him. But as time went by… it got harder not to think of you. One day, after the war, Kakashi found the ring that I bought years ago, one of the few things that survived after the war.”

“You bought a ring,” Iruka’s voice sounds pinched, strangled; Tenzou watches as he brings a hand to his mouth, to cover the slack jaw of his surprise and dawning realization.

“I did,” Tenzou admits, swallowing past the tightness in his throat, cold feet silent one the floor as he crosses the distance to pull Iruka’s hand away from his mouth, to cup his face. “Seeing that after all these years, where I spent them actively trying to dissociate everything that reminded me of you, to ignore it, to never look at you again – I couldn’t. That’s when senpai’s doubts started. It’s also when I started to think of you far too often. If senpai knew, it would be insult and disrespectful to him.” Tenzou’s thumbs Iruka’s lower lash-line, brushing away the film of salt that had started to gather there. “I begged him to leave you out of everything, Iruka. I  _ begged _ him. But he didn’t. And meant no harm. He just – he meant well. And just wanted me to be happy.”

“Weren’t you though?” Iruka asks, his voice trembling, his chin tipping upwards, hands coming up to cover Tenzou’s. “Happy with him?”

“Not the way I was with you,” Tenzou murmurs. “Senpai is kind, patient and understanding. He cares more than he lets on. He loves deep. But senpai isn’t you. He was never you and couldn’t be  _ you _ even if he spent a lifetime trying. I think he knew that. If he hurt you, he didn’t mean to. He meant well. He just… he just wanted me to be happy.”

“Can you?” Iruka asks, visibly swallowing once more. “Be happy with me again?”

“Only if you let me,” Tenzou murmurs, his thumb brushing gentle circles over the curve of Iruka’s cheek.

Iruka visibly swallows once more, before nodding slowly, leaning into one of Tenzou’s hands. “Your hands are so cold. You’ve been in the rain too long.”

“I’m fine,” Tenzou whispers, because he is. He doesn’t feel the cold at all, even though the apartment is a little chilly. He doesn’t feel the cold because Iruka is all the warmth he needs. He leeches onto that warmth, taking what he can from this moment, anchoring himself to the present as he closes his eyes and tells himself that he should put on that tea, that he should strip out of his wet shirt before he really does catch a cold.

But Iruka stops him from stepping back, keeping him in place. Iruka who is looking up at him, who opens his mouth to say something that dies at the tip of his tongue. Iruka who is looking at Tenzou’s lips, then his throat, his chest and then back up to his eyes and suddenly, Tenzou knows and he’s leaning in, pulling Iruka’s face that yields no resistance towards his, slanting their mouths together slowly, gently, almost tentatively, like they’re testing this out. This new them.

It starts off slow, nothing but a gentle touch of their lips, as Iruka pulls Tenzou’s hands away from his face and holds Tenzou’s hands in his own, his fingers shaking, nervous, like he’s still afraid, or unsure of what he’s doing.

When Iruka knows Tenzou too well. Knows where to put his hands, how to loop his arms around Tenzou’s neck when Tenzou pulls his hands away to settle them on Iruka’s hip, their mouths parting wider, tongues brushing against each other. It is Iruka who deepens the kiss, Iruka who leans forward, who caresses the sides of Tenzou’s neck as if in a reverie, as if he’s dreaming. Iruka who keeps his eyes shut, as he sighs when Tenzou trails lips down the curve of his chin and under his jaw, peppering gentle kisses all the way down to his throat, as Iruka’s hands cards through Tenzou’s short wet hair.

“I miss you,” Iruka murmurs, his voice cracking. “I miss you so, so much, Tenzou.”

Tenzou presses their foreheads together, looking deep into Iruka’s eyes, reaching up to take one of Iruka’s hands in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a long, lingering kiss on the warm curve of his knuckles. “I’m right here and all yours, if you still want me…”

“I do,” Iruka admits. “Gods,  _ I do _ .”

The response makes something  _ explode _ in Tenzou’s chest, something that makes him dip and slant their mouths together once more, pulling Iruka closer and flushed against his damp chest. Kissing Iruka is like finally coming home, as Tenzou forgets the rain that continues to pour outside, at the rushing sound of water, the ticking seconds hand of his wall clock, the very faint hum of the fridge in the corner. In this moment, there is only Iruka, and his warmth, the smell of cinnamon and orange and his fresh cologne filling Tenzou’s lungs with a breath so sweet that he has to break the kiss, trailing parted lips down the side of Iruka’s jaw, where he buries his nose in his neck, just under his ear, past the collar of his dress shirt and  _ breathes _ .

“I miss you,” Tenzou says, gravel in his throat as he scrunches his eyelids. “ _ I miss you _ .” Something warm wet brushes over Tenzou’s cheek. Something that makes him pull back and trail kisses up the tear tracks that are carving down Iruka’s cheek, tasting salt at the tip of his tongue. He reaches up and gently tugs the ponytail free, watching with fascination as the silk locks unravels, falling past Iruka’s shoulder blades in a waterfall of rich, lustrous brown. “It’s a lot longer than I remember…”

Iruka is smiling, something soft in his gaze as he pushes the wet shirt off Tenzou’s shoulders, dropping it on the floor. Iruka then leans his cheek on Tenzou’s shoulders, as Tenzou wraps his arms around him, one hand sinking into Iruka’s hair, gently rubbing at his scalp. It leaves Iruka sighing deeply, softly, like he’s finally found some sort of shelter from the cruel world to lay his weary head down upon. They stand like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, listening to each other breathe, swaying gently to the silent song of the rain beating upon the glass window.

They remain like that for what feels like forever. Or maybe it’s seconds.

Tenzou isn’t sure.

But what he knows is this:

Iruka is home. The north to his compass. Iruka has always been the one thing that makes him strong, confident. Iruka is also the thing that makes him weak, makes him kneel before a man he trusts, begging to spare Iruka heart ache, without a care for his own pride, his rank, his person, because in the grand scheme of things, Tenzou doesn’t care much about himself. He doesn’t have ambitious goals for himself, because he is a tool to be used by the village in whatever way they see fit. Whether it’s commit genocide, topple sovereign governments or spread his legs to keep their future leader intact, he is nothing. He will always be nothing.

Until he’s in Iruka orbit.

When he’s with Iruka, Tenzou knows he can be himself. When he’s in Iruka’s arms like this, Tenzou feels invincible, the strongest. When he’s with Iruka, he dreams, and wants and thinks for himself and not just because he must for the sake of his village. When he’s with Iruka, the skin on his face isn’t pulled into something that is as rigid as Cat’s porcelain mask. He is  _ alive _ when he’s with Iruka, his blood hot and rushing through his veins, swooping his stomach inwards, fuelling a heat that leaves him wanting, always wanting more, wanting to see the world through Iruka’s eyes, the eyes of the living and not the shadows, where everything is either an assignment, a mission or a target. Iruka makes his mouth relax to a smile of openness, makes his eyes look out and about at what wonder could there possibly be in this world that can further make the love of his life happy.

Because the truth is, when Iruka is happy, Tenzou is at his happiest.

When Iruka’s mouth is pulled up into a joyous curve, when his dimples dot his cheeks, when his eyes glimmers like the golden glow of a thousand suns, Tenzou is at his happiest.

Looking down at Iruka now, watching as Iruka turns his chin up, leaning in for a kiss, Tenzou can only sink into the heat of his mouth, eyes sliding shut as Iruka’s tongue brushes against his, long, slow, deep. He can just stand there and surrender, his hands brushing over the lines of Iruka’s arms, so much leaner than he remembers, but still just as strong, as Iruka’s fingers unbuttons his dress shirt, tugs the hem free from where it’s tucked in, slide his shoulders out of it, while Tenzou caresses down the length of his arms, as if remembering, re-memorizing everything that makes Iruka who he is.

There are new scars on Iruka’s body, one above his right elbow, and one just there on his shoulder. Those hadn’t been there five years ago, almost six now. Tenzou breaks the kiss and presses his lips over the keloid on Iruka’s shoulder, listening to his breath hitch in his throat, ever so soft, lost to the echoing rush of the rain outside, while Tenzou’s fingers memorizes the dipped line at the back of Iruka’s elbow, a mere two jagged inches. It must have been stitched on the field.

“What happened?” Tenzou murmurs, lips brushing over the scar on Iruka’s shoulder.

“Summer mission, B-rank. A fight broke out. One of the border skirmishes, a little after Orochimaru’s attack. We were on our way home,” Iruka explains, his breath staggering when Tenzou bites down at that scar, anger and bitterness make him sink his teeth down hard, the action making Iruka cry out, his fingers clenching for a brief moment.

He should have been there. Tenzou should have fucking been there.

“And this?” Tenzou asks, his fingers tracing the scar on Iruka’s elbow, lips trailing over Iruka’s collarbone to his neck.

“Trap training. Academy,” Iruka answers, fingers tracing the lines of Tenzou’s lower back, going over old scars, like he’s familiarizing himself with them once more.

“Anything else I should know about?” Tenzou asks softly, tracing his tongue over the bob of Iruka’s adam’s apple.

Iruka’s hand reaches back and upwards to grasp Tenzou, the one that had been on Iruka’s elbow. Iruka presses it against his side, just under his ribcage, where a large jagged scar far too big, far too hideous under Tenzou’s palm, something that makes him stiffen in Iruka’s arms, his forehead dropping heavily on Iruka’s shoulder, eyes scrunching shut, teeth gritting.

“During the war, Turtle Island was attacked by Zetsu’s clones. We managed to contain it, keep them away from the civillians,” Iruka says, goes quiet.

Just as everything in Tenzou plummets to the core of the earth, something tearing past his lips, a sound so unlike him because he had fueled Zetsu’s clones. It was his body that gave Zetsu the strength and number, his body tore through hundreds of lives and Iruka. Tenzou’s knees give out, as he sinks to the ground, pressing his forehead on Iruka’s abdomen, wrapping his arms around him as the thought of losing Iruka, the thought of him dying and he having anything to do with it  _ hurts _ . It  _ burns _ . It  _ chokes _ him, leaving his lower lip trembling as he presses his hands on Iruka’s body, his face crumpling in shame and horror as he looks at the scar, how it mars the smooth line of Iruka’s body.

It’s ugly.

Jagged and dark, some parts raised, some parts dipped.

It’s something that should have never been on Iruka’s body.

Tenzou looks up at Iruka, begging for forgiveness, the words not quite forming, his chin brushing over Iruka’s lower abdomen. Iruka smiles at him, soft and so, so kind, ever so empathic, his hand wrapping around Tenzou’s palm, as he wraps Tenzou’s fingers around his belt and pants, guiding it around the button, buckle and zipper, urging Tenzou’s fingers to strip him down, bare him free, let the fabric and belt fall to the ground. Iruka is then taking Tenzou’s hand, pressing it on the side of his thigh, where there, as Tenzou turns his attention towards it, is a new scar, not very big, but not exactly pleasant to look at either. It’s burnt skin, just half the size of Tenzou’s palm.

“Katon jutsu, I wasn’t quick enough. Two years ago, summer mission, B-rank,” Iruka says, as Tenzou swallows and leans over, pressing his lips to the crumpled patch of skin, peppering soft kisses all the way up to Iruka’s hips.

“Any more?” Tenzou ask, his voice thick, hoarse.

“My back,” Iruka swallows, making Tenzou stand. Iruka turns to give Tenzou his back and sure enough, right there above Iruka’s right shoulder blade, is a round and dipped scar, a stab wound. Tenzou’s lips fall over it, nibbling around it, making goosebumps break all over the length of Iruka’s back, a soft  _ moan _ leaving his lips in a soft exhale. “B-r-rank, summer, last year. We were being pursued.”

Tenzou hates these scars, hates the idea that Iruka was even hurt to begin with, not because he thinks Iruka is incapable, but because Iruka doesn’t deserve pain to be inflicted on him in any shape or form. He’s too good for that. He deserves better than that.

(And yet the harshest pain has been inflicted by you.)

Tenzou brushes Iruka’s hair to one side, pressing his lips over the nape of his neck, leaning his forehead against the back of Iruka’s skull.

“You’re still beautiful,” Tenzou says. It’s nothing but the truth, because despite the new scars, these new injuries, Iruka still manages to make the blood run hot in his veins, still manages to make arousal swell in his groin, still manages to take his breath away. “So,  _ so _ beautiful.”

Tenzou peppers kisses down the length of Iruka’s neck, slow, languid, taking his time, pulling Iruka’s back to his chest, his palms dragging down the length of Iruka’s body, dipping into the waistband of his boxers, pushing it down slowly, fingers hooking on the waistband, freeing Iruka’s semi-hard cock from its confines. They drop down to the floor, Iruka stepping out of them, turning and taking Tenzou’s hand in his, walking backwards towards the best.

“I want to feel you,” Iruka whispers, making Tenzou reach behind to catch the light switch, bathing the room in semi-darkness save for the glow of the village light spilling in from the window. “Let me remember you…”

Tenzou steps forward, long and almost fast, sealing their mouths together, their heads slanting, lips fitting against each other like two pieces of a lost puzzle. He undoes his belt and pants, pushing everything down with boxers, stepping out of it before quickly wrapping his arms around Iruka. He cradles Iruka’s head, whose hands rakes over the planes of Tenzou’s back, both of them lowering down to the bed, Iruka’s head gently settling on the pillow, while Tenzou straddles him and deepens their kiss.

They taste each other’s lips, steal each other’s breath, slowly burning in their desires as Tenzou slowly allows Iruka to reverse their positon, the sheets rustling with every languid drag of their body, their limbs, with each caress of Iruka’s lips upon Tenzou’s throat, over his nipples, his mouth taking its time, going over every flex of Tenzou’s muscles, every dip of the numerous new scars he’s managed to collect throughout the years, Iruka’s tongue hot, war,  _ burning _ against Tenzou’s skin, making him press the back of his palms against his forehead, his teeth gritting when Iruka finally, finally, wraps his lips around his cock.

Gods, Tenzou thinks, as shudders and inhales deep, eyes shut as he feels each brush of Iruka’s tongue. As his cock slides all the way into Iruka’s mouth, seating itself deep in his throat. Tenzou`s hand is on Iruka`s head, gripping his hair, because gods, oh  _ gods _ , he thinks, as Iruka sets a slow pace, savouring this moment, taking his time, as if he`s just relearning every ridge, every throbbing vein on Tenzou`s cock with his tongue. As if he's feasting upon some sort of delicacy, rolling the ribald taste in his tongue, humming gently at the base of his throat, as if there is relief in having all of Tenzou in his mouth.

Or a blessing.

Tenzou finds himself propped up on an elbow, watching Iruka suck his cock, watching his head bob up and down, slow and easy, his pace so unrushed, Iruka’s chin glistening with saliva and precum. 

Something that Tenzou gets at the tip of his tongue when he gently tugs Iruka off his cock, guiding his body over Tenzou's, pressing him close and pressing his mouth over Iruka’s chin, tasting himself. Iruka shudders at the gesture, neck arching as Tenzou sinks his teeth on Iruka's throat, leaving behind ruby red marks that'll bruise for days perhaps, a reminder of their night together. 

“Gods, Iruka,” Tenzou whispers, revelling in how Iruka  _ moans _ under him when he pushes Iruka back down on the pillows, kissing him deeply, longingly, losing himself in Iruka's embrace and warmth, nipping at Iruka's lower lip, sucking at its curved tiers until they're ruddy, bruised, remaining parted because Iruka keeps having his breath stolen away. Tenzou keeps taking it for himself.

Iruka moans under him, head turning to the side when Tenzou's lips circles around his nipple, tongue flicking out, teasing the brown nub to hardness, leaving Iruka shuddering under Tenzou's lips, his mouth a litany of staggered syllables of Tenzou's name.

Tenzou didn't think he'd ever hear his name this way again. He didn't think he'd live to see the day where Iruka would say his name like it's relief, a prayer, almost as if the definition of Tenzou is,  _ I'm home. _

It makes Tenzou's eyes water, as he presses his forehead to Irukas chest, bowing before him, repenting before him as his fingers trail down Irukas body, remembering old scars in its path, lingering over one by his abdomen, a curved one, almost like a hook, an old one, where Iruka had said once upon a time ago, that he got that on his first A-rank mission. A successful mission but one that had him hospitalised for days.

Tenzou presses his lips upon it, swallowing past the emotion in his throat, blinking the heat away from his eyes as he trails his lips down, all the way to Irukas thighs, where he parts them with his hands. Where they open willingly, invitingly, as Tenzou hooks one of Irukas legs over his shoulder, pepper kisses gently over the side of his knee. He trails kisses all the way to Irukas inner thigh, sliding his hand under Irukas hips, helping him arch up a little, parting him wider, as Tenzou takes Iruka’s arousal in his hand and strokes.

Iruka’s hiss fills the space of the quiet room, splitting through the sound of their deep breaths, their desire for each other and over the rush of the pouring spring rain outside. 

Tenzou familiarises his hand around Iruka’s cock, stroking that length, pressing his forehead to Iruka's knee, his lips leaving a chain of love marks on the inside of Irukas thigh, all while smearing pre-cum over Iruka's cock, listening to Iruka say his name, over and over and over again.

Until he sears it into his mind, commit that staggered staccatos of Iruka’s breathless syllables to memory. 

Until he can't take it anymore because it's been so long.

So many years between them.

Almost a lifetime.

And Tenzou is lowering himself to Iruka's mouth, sliding over the length of his body, boxing his head in with elbows on either side, their cocks brushing over each other, stroking each other, Iruka's hands  _ digging _ into Tenzou's lower back. 

They remain like that, looking at each other, Tenzou kissing Iruka deeply, slowly, as he reaches for the night stand and pulls out the tube of lube that has remained unused and sealed for a while now. Tenzou uncaps it with his fingers, breaks the seal with his nails, gets some of the cold gel on his fingers before he pulls back and looks at Iruka for a long, long moment.

“What is it?” Iruka asks, a hand cupping Tenzou's face, his thumb brushing over Tenzou's cheekbone, reverting in its caress.

“Nothing,” Tenzou says, swallowing past something in his throat. Something that grows warm and large, somewhere in his lungs, the softest parts of him suddenly exposed, like a raw wound. 

Iruka is smiling at him. Smiling softly like once upon a time ago, and being in the wake of it makes Tenzou exhale a noise that makes him bury his face in the curve of Irukas neck, as his lubed fingers reached down and under, Tenzou's breath coming out shaky, with difficulty, his sinuses clogging as he closes his eyes and pushes a finger into Iruka’s body.

Iruka who wraps his arms around Tenzou's shoulders, fingers carding through his hair, lips pressing to Tenzou's ear, where he whispers,  _ I'm here, in your arms. I'm here and I don't want to be anywhere else. I'm here, with you, just you. It'll always be  _ **_you_ ** _ that I want to be with, Tenzou.  _

Tenzou breathes through his gritted teeth, the words pulling his body taut, making the heat in his  _ burn _ even more, his guilt and shame carving down his cheeks as he pushes another finger in, Iruka’s hips arching into his, Iruka’s cock brushing over Tenzou's abdomen. Iruka, who shakes underneath him, trembling as he breathes through being filled by Tenzou's fingers. Iruka who is so incredibly tight, an ever burning inferno.

Iruka’s hands are on Tenzou’s face again, cupping it, pressing their forehead together, fingers brushing the tears away, Iruka's lips slanting over Tenzou in a kiss, nipping at Tenzou's lips, Iruka's tongue tracing his lips, over the grit of Tenzou's teeth.

“I love you,” Iruka whispers, the words lost somewhere against Tenzou's lips. “I will always love you.”

Something about those words tears a sob out of Tenzou, just as he curls his fingers in Iruka's body, watching Iruka arch his neck, chin tipping to the ceiling. He watches as Iruka shudders under him, his moans filling the room, fingers grasping on to Tenzou, like Tenzou is a lifeline, his only anchor, the only thing that grounds him.

And Tenzou knows, as he pulls his fingers away, as he coats his cock with lubricant and ever so slowly, sinks himself into Iruka's body, as he watches Iruka's eyebrows knit together, his jaw slacking, the flush high on Iruka's cheeks, he knows that this is his home. That what they're doing now, isn't just fucking anymore.

This is them returning to each other, filling each other, filling the cracks that had yawned far too wide with every passing day they had spent apart. This is them finding each other, committing to each other, promising each other to never be apart anymore, to be stronger, braver, to have courage and not fear what tomorrow may bring.

Iruka knows, as his body is filled with everything that is Tenzou, that he doesn't want to spend a day away from him anymore. That he would rather face death itself that all the days ahead of him without Tenzou by his side. Iruka knows, as he spreads his legs wider, as he cries out when Tenzou finally seats himself fully, completely - oh gods, he's big, he's so big, it's too much - that he’s signing himself up for more hurt, at the possibility to having Tenzou turn his back on him again.

He's so scared.

He's so fucking scared.

But Tenzou takes his hand, presses Iruka's knuckles to his lips, as tears carves down his handsome face, shame and guilt marring Tenzou's handsome features. Tenzou laces their fingers together, pressing Iruka's palm down the pillows, rocking his hips forward, rolling them, making Iruka's body adjust to his cock. Tenzou looks at him, like Iruka is the only thing that matters, his love, his everything, the sun in his sky and Iruka knows, gods he knows, that he's forgiven Tenzou.

That the fact of the matter is, he never blamed Tenzou. Not really. Iruka always blamed himself, for allowing himself to be vulnerable.

And here he is, once more, taking Tenzou's other hand, taking all of Tenzou's weight in their laced fingers, as Iruka presses it over the nervous, mad drum of his heart. 

“Please take care of me, Tenzou,” Iruka says, fear making him want to scream, something in him resisting this open offer of succumbing. “I am in your care. Please. Don't hurt me again.”

“With my life,” Tenzou  _ promises, _ something roaring in his gaze, his teeth gritting as a snarl, primal and possessive  _ tears _ past his lips, lost somewhere when he takes Iruka's mouth in his, swallowing Iruka's cry when Tenzou snaps his hips forward.

Once.

Twice.

And then he's thrusting into Iruka's body, tearing Iruka open slowly, gently, filling Iruka with his thick cock, the salacious squelch of cock in ass filling the room, punctuated by Iruka's breathless cries at the ceiling. They rock against each other, lost in each other gazes, Iruka watching Tenzou's eyes glimmer like black diamonds in the dark and village light. Gods, he's wonderful, fatally attractive, ever so handsome, aging gracefully, maybe more beautiful that what Iruka remembers from years ago.

Iruka can't stop the slack smile from tugging around the corners of his lips. He can't stop himself when he tells Tenzou how handsome he is, how good he feels, how good his cock is. He watches as Tenzou's flush deepens, as he smiles just a little lopsidedly, that smile disappearing somewhere in Iruka's mouth, Iruka swallowing that smile for himself,  _ groaning _ into Tenzou's mouth as his cock brushes against Iruka’s prostate. 

Over and over again.

It's how Iruka comes, his mouth parted, his body arching up into Tenzou's body, cum coming out in long hot streaks of white between their chests, Iruka's cry swallowed by Tenzou's sudden searing kiss, something that drowns out the world and leaves Iruka’s reality spinning, spinning, spinning.

And Tenzou is coming too, filling Iruka with a searing heat that leaves him keening into Tenzou's hungry mouth, making his nails dig and break into skin, raking down the muscles of Tenzou's back, leaving angry red marks that has Tenzou gritting his teeth, his neck arching backwards, as he empties himself, hissing through his teeth, not at all quiet like Iruka remembers him being.

No, Tenzou is letting himself go. He's allowing himself to be but a man instead of a weapon in this moment between then, baring parts of himself he almost never does, not with Iruka.

And certainly never with Kakashi.

Tenzou crashes down with a sigh, his forehead coming to rest on Iruka’s shoulder, as he catches his breath his fingers a vice where is laced with Iruka's on the pillow. 

They remain like that, the rain finally ceasing its insistent fall, reducing to a mere drizzle. Tenzou gently pulls out, watching Iruka shudder. Iruka who turns and curls on his side, facing the wall, taking with him Tenzou's arm as if it were a blanket. Tenzou’s fingers are lax for a moment when Iruka laces their fingers together, pressing it over the drum of Irukas' heart.

“Please stay,” Tenzou says, pushing his leg between Iruka's, feeling cum spill out of Iruka's ass and onto his leg. “Please don't leave me.”

“I won't,” Iruka murmurs, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Something about that makes Tenzou sink into the pillow where for once, he doesn't feel upended and groundless.

For once, he  _ rests. _

*

Iruka is the first to wake up, many hours later, finding the bed empty and devoid of warmth. He sits up slowly, carefully, and finds Tenzou standing by the window, sweat pants sitting low on his hips, taking sips of what smells like tea from a mug as he stares out at the village.

The faint smell of cedar trees and amber clings tons Iruka's skin -- Tenzou, he thinks, as he sinks back on the bed and covers, turning to lie on his back.

Tenzou is looking at him now, something soft in his gaze.

Tenzou sets his mug down, coming to kneel by the edge of the bed, taking Iruka's hand in both of his, pressing knuckles to his lips.

“Does this mean I'll get flowers again?” Iruka asks, a little hesitant.

“You won't give them away?” Tenzou asks, eyebrows sloping to a look of hurt, something soft, vulnerable.

Iruka swallows. “I only gave them away because I couldn't bare to look at them and be reminded of you. I didn't want to hope…” Iruka smiles a little self deprecating. “A useless effort, I realized in the end. Because getting something from you made me look forward to things again. You always made the most beautiful things. A part of me was happy. Just for a moment. Thank you. For the flowers. They were wonderful.”

Tenzou closes his eyes, kissing Iruka's knuckles again. 

In the middle of Tenzou's palm, he grows out a single red rose, and around it, a twine of small lavender blooms. This, Iruka knows its meaning. This, he's received it before. 

True love. Devotion.

Iruka takes it in his hands, smiling as fresh tears collect around the corners of his eyes, before he wraps his arms around Tenzou’s shoulders, allowing himself to be picked up and held up on his tiptoes, right there, in the safety of Tenzou's embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am emotions. Sorry. I have nothing to say except i wanna bundle up in a corner and cry.
> 
> [Except that this is Tenzou’s apartment if anyone cares.](%E2%80%9C)

**Author's Note:**

> *SHRUG*


End file.
